


The Matchmaking of Stiles Stilinski

by ReedMeme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Breeding, Come Eating, Come Marking, Consent Issues, Copious Amounts of Cum, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Gen, I fail at mixing Victorian and Modern speech, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Scent Marking, apparently trigger happy author, complexity of dual natures, extreme violence, intended mpreg, kinky universe, pomp, this universe's morality is WAY different than our own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReedMeme/pseuds/ReedMeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the Omega son of the prominent Alpha, Sheriff Stilinski.  </p><p>At twenty three years of age, the sheriff insists that his son now be mated and hires the Matchmaker Lady Lydia Martin to set up a coupling.  </p><p>A ball is set.  Trial runs are done.  Mates are found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> A story in seven chapters. Kinky universe with a measure of silliness. 
> 
> Story is done. Will (try) to post one chapter a day. But I might forget to do so, or life gets in the way. But it's only seven chapters, so it won't be dragged out.

 

     "A Matchmaker?"  Stiles cries with wild-eyed surprise, dropping his scoop of hard-boiled egg in the process.  "Matched with what?"

     "A coniferous tree.  What did you think?"  The sheriff replies shortly.  "You have now passed twenty three years and you have yet to find yourself a suitable mate."

     "It is currently fashionable to defer the subject of marriage until one passes the age of thirty five, father.  I have plenty of time."  Stiles responds flippantly before adding more salt onto his egg. 

     "Others, perhaps, have the luxury of practicing such fashions, but _you_ do not."  His father responds wearily.  "I am old Stiles, and I am alone.  If I were to pass, our entire estate will solely be in your hands.  The very thought of it is..."

     "What's wrong with my hands?  Do you think of me as one so inept that I am incapable of keeping not only my own life but our fortune as well?"  Stiles bites back before taking a spoon full of salty eggs. 

     The sheriff sighs before trudging along to his point.  "I am perfectly aware of what a wonderful and capable son you are.  Your abilities are not in question here, Stiles.  But it does not change the fact that you are an..."

     "Omega."  Stiles finishes bitterly. 

     "As such, your stature _will_ cause significant problems for you once I pass."  His father finishes. 

     "Can we please not discuss such morbid topics during breakfast?  It's far too beautiful a day to be discussing not only your death but the adversities of my lot in life as well."  He complains. 

     "This is important, Stiles."  His father presses, sharply pointing a spoonful of oatmeal into his son's face.  "It figures in my nightmares, leaving you alone and undefended.  I don't care what happens to this house, my money.  Is that what you think?  Without me, you would be an Omega without a pack.  No amount of money and family history can protect you from the raving lunatics who would be breaking down that door to breed you at the moment of my death."

     "Father..." 

     "This is important Stiles and is not a matter of discussion."  The sheriff says coldly before giving up on his food and covering his plate with his napkin.  A servant quickly hurries over to remove his plate from the table.  "Now, as I've said, a Matchmaker will be arriving after noon to asses your condition and set up prospective mates for your choosing."

     "I'm perfectly capable of finding a mate for myself, thank you very much."  Stiles says bitterly.  His father just raises an eyebrow in response.  "What?  I am.  It's not my fault that this god-forsaken town lacks individuals who can properly appreciate my wiles." 

     "Throwing a loaf of bread at a boy's face does not constitute as charm."  His father answers dryly.   

     "That was one time!"  Stiles says, highly offended.  "And Scott became my closest friend, did he not?"

     "Friend, yes.  Mate?  No."  Pushing his chair back, the sheriff stands up with an even look on his face.  "Stiles, I beg of you.  Look presentable.  This is important to me, and thus should be important to you."

      "Is that your command as the Alpha?"  He says bitterly, poking at his half-eaten eggs.

      "It is my request, as your loving father."  The sheriff responds before moving over to where his son sat to kiss him at the top of his head.  "This is not a death sentence.  This is just marriage." 

     "Same difference."  Stiles mutters as his father exists the room. 

     After the dreadful conversation with his father, Stiles found his appetite suddenly lacking.  He soon left the table, despite having only eaten half of a hard boiled egg, and proceeded to drown his misery in the company of his long time friend, Scott McCall. 

      The two young men were of even stature, in both height and of public opinion.  Although where Stiles was an Omega, Scott was a Beta.  The two had become best of friends the moment after Stiles threw a loaf of bread at Scott's head when Stiles first met him at the Beacon Hills School for Boys; which they both attend.  They were both six years old when they first met, and something in Stiles found the sharp angles of Scott's jaw to be alarmingly attractive and the boy to be oddly charismatic.  So not quite knowing what to do, he took the nearest thing in hand, the loaf of bread on his lunch plate, and threw it at the young boy's head.  At the time, the posturing of budding Omegas were unknown to either of them, and Scott merely interpreted the action as Stiles' way of sharing his food.  Scott liked food very much, a trait that Stiles found they both had in common.  The two of them then took it upon themselves to become friends for the rest of their lives.  Fortunately for Stiles, upon closer inspection he found that Scott's particular bouquet, the baroque manner of describing one's personal stench, was not as enticing when standing next to the boy.  Although it was not particularly repugnant to his senses, there was a part of him that wished he had kept that bread for himself for a better bouquet.  But the larger part of him was glad not to have done so for he had received a valuable friend in turn.  Besides, as they grew older, Stiles found himself to have gotten quite fond of Scott's musk, especially when his friend took it upon himself to mark Stiles.  Although that may be due more to his Omega libido than a change of personal opinion.          

     "Marriage!  Honestly."  Stiles whined. 

      The two were traveling through the sparse woods in Stilinski land, with Stiles making use of a rather lengthy stick as if it were a sword, play fighting with his friend just as the knights in his stories did, once upon a time.  The two of them fancied themselves talented swordsmen, which in reality was far from the truth, and they thrust and parried with the best of them (the imaginary knights in their minds). 

     "Isn't that a good thing, though?"  Scott said as he aims a particularly violent thrust towards his friend's side, barely missing him by less than an inch.  "I do have to agree with your father that you would be better protected with an Alpha mate by your side.  I can't protect you forever." 

     Stiles aimed a frustrated swipe at his friends head, which Scott parried easily enough.  "I don't need your protection, thank you very much."

     Scott huffs out his frustration, sticking out his tongue in consternation as he tries for another lunge at his friend's abdomen with his sword-stick.  "Oh yes you do.  Do you remember when Jackson was a boy and suffered the heat for the first time and you were the nearest Omega from where he stood?  He almost took you then and there in the lunch room.  I've never seen such obscene things done to bread pudding in all of my life.  Frankly I haven't looked at bread pudding without getting an erection ever since."

     "That was one time."  Stiles whined.

     "Marcus, Daehler, Greenburg..."  His friend listed off as he performs a dazzling pirouette that finished with a smart swipe aimed at his friend's ribs. 

     "I still say Greenburg was aiming for that oak tree behind me.  I'm quite certain that Greenburg is a closet arbosexual."  He says smartly, nodding his head which was then followed by a wince as Scott successfully lands a blow to his shoulder.  "A fortnight ago I saw him loitering in the public park next to a particularly robust pine tree.  It is my sneaking suspicion that he is having a scandalous affair with a commoner's tree, of all things."

       "I don't know what you're so concerned about.  Marriage is perfectly acceptable for gentlemen of our age, even if it's not in fashion.  Last I heard, Jackson mated a rather affluent Lady named Heather something or other in London."  Scott observes. 

      "I think this Lady something or other must have Jackson's equally unpleasant disposition if she freely chose to mate with him.  Good riddance to unpleasant rubbish, I say."  Stiles declares as he raises his hands in defeat after another particularly vicious lunge at his ribs.  Scott cheers happily and pumps his fists in the air.  Stiles merely rolls his eyes and tips his head to expose his neck to the victor.  Scott rushes towards him with barely contained excitement as he proceeds to gnaw on his friend's neck, one of the prizes of the victor.       

     "You know I have half a mind to sabotage this absurd decision by my father to marry me off to strangers.  But I do understand his concern, even the ones he refuses to voice."  Stiles prattles on as Scott starts to rut into his body while sucking on his neck.  After Scott lets out the growl that ordered for more did Stiles falls to his knees and begins to unbutton his friend's trousers.  "But resorting to a Matchmaker is embarrassing.  Of course if my mother were alive, it would have been her responsibility to find me a mate should I had been unable to do so.  Honestly, the thought of an outsider having the power to select the man, or woman, I would be spending the rest of my life with is... well, embarrassing." 

     As Stiles pulls down Scott's unzipped trousers and undergarment, his friend's large, robust, cock springs down to smack him in the face.  Stiles nestles his face into his friend's hefty balls to breathe in his musk and lick at the skin before executing the Victor's Sexual Favour.  As an Omega it was his duty after losing contests for him to satisfy the sexual desires of the victor.  As an Omega, more often than not Stiles would find himself on his knees servicing a cock or a cunt.  Providentially, his friendship with Scott meant that most sexual favours Stiles had had to practice were to his friend than to strangers.  Something of which he was most grateful for.    

     "I mean how would you react if your mother used the services of a Matchmaker to find your mate?"  Stiles says in between sucking in Scott's balls in his mouth, and licking at his perineum, his hands gripping and moving along his friend's thick shaft.  "I dare you to act differently."  He says as he licks his way up his friends shaft to capture the generous amount of preseminal fluid leaking out of his friend's cock head with his tongue.

     "Give it a chance, will you?  Who knows, maybe you'll end up finding your true mate in the process."  Scott manages to say with a deep, husky, voice as Stiles takes his cock into his mouth; straight to the base.  The sight of it was fantastically obscene and had Scott growling out his approval. 

     Stiles sucks on his friend's cock thoroughly, cheeks sinking in at the vacuum, pulling his head back as Scott's cock falls out of his mouth with a loud pop.  He looks up at his friend with incredulity.  "I'm trying to have a rather grave conversation with you, I'll have you know, and your dallying in the absurd world of fantasy is making light of a very serious situation."       

      Stiles continues to pump his friend's cock as he looks up at him in disapproval for his demonstratively lack of tack.  True mates?  What an absurd and unwarranted thing to say.  Scott growls become louder as more of his pre-ejaculatory fluid is pumped out of his cock.  Scott then proceeds to take his own cock in his hands and begins to rub the head all over Stiles' face, coating his skin with his pre-cum. 

     "I wasn't trying to be absurd."  Scott presses as he coats his friends' lips with more of his leaking fluid.  "Do you hold some personal grudge against romanticism?  It is quite possible that through this Matchmaker's efforts you will be subjected to the sublimity of vagarious love.  Your pessimism is unbecoming for someone of our age.  Love may be a fickle creature, but I hold that can it be found anywhere.  Even in the hands of a Matchmaker."

     Grasping much of his friend's hair in his fists, Scott orders his friends mouth open and proceeds to pump his cock in and out of his friend's mouth.  Stiles draws in his cheeks, sucking as hard as he could around Scott's large, stiff member pumping into his orifice.  Growling out his approval, Scott pushes his cock deep into Stiles' mouth until his face was pressed against his hips and holds Stiles there for a time, relishing in the heat of Stiles' throat around his cock.

      It wasn't until Scott had released his friend, his cock falling out of his Stiles' mouth, that Stiles responded to Scott's remarks regarding love. 

     "Were you honestly droning on about love while I sucked on your cock?  You can be quite uncouth at times, McCall."  Stiles huffs out before opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue. 

      Standing before him, Scott fists his cock frantically, his cock-head aimed squarely at Stiles' gaping mouth, his eyes wide and glowing at his impending release. 

      "Well, I'm sorry.  But I'm just trying to have you study this situation from another perspective.  It isn't absurd to say that you might genuinely fall in love with whoever the Matchmaker chooses for you.  Are you that frightened by the prospect of finding love outside of your own efforts?"  Scott explains as he pumps his cock for a last time before spilling a copious amount of his seed into his friend's gaping mouth. 

      Stiles' mouth remains open for some time while it fills to the brim with Scott's abundant, sticky, salty-sweet cum, his tongue coated by the clear, white, honey.  He knew that he wasn't allowed to swallow until Scott had finished ejaculating, even if there was too much semen for his mouth to contain that it spills out to trickle down in many strands down his cheeks and neck.  Several times Scott purposefully misses his friend's mouth to coat Stiles' face with his cum instead; relishing the look of an Omega coated in his seed.  After some time, Stiles finally swallows Scott's thick seed, the Beta's chest rumbling in approval at the site of the Omega licking his lips and taking in his ejaculate.  Stiles moves to suckle on his friend's limp cock before moving to stand.  Scott then moves forward to lick at the remains of his cum on Stiles' skin himself.

     "Well, I'm sorry if I do not share your absurdly romantic disposition."  Stiles snaps while Scott continues to clean Stiles' skin of his cum.  "The future I see before me are old, worn, Alphas who are unable to find mates for themselves that they have to resort to the ministrations of an old, batty, virgin." 

      Scott had finally stopped his licking and had resorted to nestling his head into the crook of Stiles' neck and taking deep steadying breathes, his hand partly-gripping and partly-caressing Stiles' back. 

      "It will be fine Stiles."  His friend assures him as Scott moves back to bend over and pull his trousers up.  "You know your father would never do anything that would jeopardize your health, let alone the freedom you hold so dear.  If you really chose none of the matches of the Matchmaker, he will not hold it against you.  You should not hold it against yourself either if you choose that path.  I'm sure everything will work out in the end."  Scott finishes with a smile and a smarmy pat on his friend's cheeks. 

      Stiles huffs out a final breathe of frustration before he and his friend make their way back to the manor house before after noon arrived. 

     The sheriff greeted them at the large doors of the manor, nodding a greeting at Scott who bows to the waist in deference to the alpha.  The moment they are closer his father takes a deep sniff before turning to look at Scott with a chuckle. 

     "Stiles lose at sword fighting again?"  The sheriff asked. 

     Scott merely shrugged and smiled awkwardly.  "If it's any consolation, he's really quite good at sucking cock and eating my cum.  He's the best Omega I've ever had."

     The sheriff let out a guffaw before patting Scott on the back.  "Well, it is my hope that the Matchmaker will find that valuable information.  Now, if you'll excuse us, my son needs to prepare himself before the Matchmaker arrives.  Which I can see might be too late if that is indeed her coach coming down the bend right now." 

      Turning to look at where his father was faced, Stiles sees a bright pink and white coach being pulled by a large, light, palomino wearing an absurd feathered horse's hat.  The coachman was dressed in an astonishingly pink paletot coat and top hat while sporting a handlebar moustache.  The coach comes to a stop before them as the large palomino rears its head back in a loud neigh.  Stiles moves to turn to his friend to comment on the ludicrousness before them but finds his friend suddenly curiously absent.  The sheriff moves forward to greet the woman climbing down of the coach, offering his hand as the Matchmaker muddles her way through her great, pink, overly fluffed, dress. 

     The woman greets them with a curtsy as she makes her way to the ground.  Her cheeks were powdered pink and her eyes shadowed with pink paint to echo her pink lips.  Glancing at the coach driver, she surreptitiously coughs on a gloved hand before whipping out a frilly pink fan to hide behind. 

     The old coach man looks at her curiously for a moment before his eyes widened with comprehension and he quickly shutters down from the coach to stand beside her. 

     "Presenting the venerable Lady Lydia Martin of Oakley.  Daughter of the Baron Martin of Antioch and the Lady Drew of Oakley."  The coach man announced pompously.

      An old, batty, virgin she was not.  But Stiles found her as equally terrifying. 

     Clicking her fan shut with a swipe, the Matchmaker beams at them with smile. "Thank you Sheriff.  It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.  Your reputation precedes you.  You name is common amongst the tongues of those in Oakley and Antioch."

     "You flatter me, Lady Martin."  The sheriff says with a terse nod.  "This my son, Stiles." 

     "Stiles?"  The Matchmaker startles at the name.  "What an odd name.  Oh, and please do call me Ms. Lydia, all of my close friends do and I consider us the closest of friends.  After all, I do now bear the responsibility of coupling your son."    

     Ms. Lydia was a pretty woman.  She seemed well-bred, carrying herself well, but suffered from a terminal case of height deficiency, which she remedied by her stalwart efforts to wear brightly coloured and astonishingly tall heels.  Her hair was wavy and golden and worn up in a winding braid, as current fashion among women dictated.  Her eyes were bright and sharp and her lips were perpetually pressed into a thin line that reflected her critical demeanour.  The moment she comes upon Stiles in the courtyard, she studies his figure from head to foot before clucking her tongue in disapproval. 

     "This is what I have to work with?"  She says sharply at Stiles' father. 

     "Excuse me?"  The sheriff asks with some confusion.  "I don't know what you mean."

     "He is dressed improperly, his demeanour before a Lady such as myself is appalling, and goodness, I do not even care to think what that smell is."  She rambles on before tenderly covering her nose behind her silk fan. 

     Stiles straightens his back defiantly before responding, " _my_ demeanour is appalling?  You haven't even said hello and you've already insulted me three times."          

     "Where is the mother?  How could she let her child rot into such a creature?"  She cries as if Stiles' very presence before her was some sort of criminal offence to her sensibilities. 

     The sheriff narrows his eyes into a glare at the woman and answers her in a cold and abrupt voice.  "My wife is dead." 

     "Dead?"  She said, astonished.  "How inconvenient." 

     After staring at the sheriff blankly for a moment, she moves past him to stalk past the stone steps of the manor front towards the common room. 

     Stiles startles at Ms. Lydia's crassness and merely stares after the woman before he and his father follower her inside, leaving the coachman to handle the palomino outside.  In the sun blessed light of the common room, Ms. Lydia whips out a notepad as Stiles moves to stand in the middle of the room, frantically scribbling as she stalks towards him.  She stops several feet before him and scrunches her nose, before studying him by walking in a circle about his person. 

     "I suppose her death explains many things.  I have never met a mother, let alone the mate of a prominent Alpha, who would ever tolerate the presence of such a creature in their household.  Frankly, I've never met an Omega who would allow such decay to occur to themselves."  She says coldly while eyeing Stiles' clothes with severe distaste.  "I sense that you are covered in semen, from a Beta no doubt?  Well, at least we know you are well practiced in your manners.  That certainly is a start.  Now, we just have to remedy how you treat your father and this house." 

     "We're getting along quite alright, if you must know.  My father is an excellent, well... father!  He's also quite healthy."  Stiles bites back from suffering such a deep offence. 

     "But he makes for a poor substitute of a mother.  He is also not the one who must find a mate.  Not to mention the multitude of servants your have roaming the manor have clearly been under educated."  She retorts harshly, bristling from his tone.  "And as an Omega, your duty should have been to continue the upkeep of this household after your mother's passing.  Now, the situation entails that you will become both.  As a male Omega you will not only be an Alpha mate, but you will also be mother to his children, or even the father of her children, and be responsible for the running of the household." 

      "I don't want to run the house."  Stiles responds, clenching his fists.  "It is my desire to practice a profession.  I will be getting a job."

      Ms. Lydia startles at the revelation before composing herself with a deep breathe.  "Let me assure you Mr. Stilinski that child rearing and running a household _is_ a job unto itself.  It is not simple nor is it any less than any of the _professions_ that you apparently aspire to.  Or did you think so little of your own mother that you would insult not only who she was, but all of her efforts as well?"

      Her sharp words shamed him just as quickly as she spoke.  His stiff spine shattered and his head bowed in disgrace for he agreed with what she had just said.  It was not what he had meant, nor was it his aim to insult his mother, but it was what he had done nonetheless. 

      "I..."  He stuttered but was unable to complete his sentence as Ms. Lydia charged on with her lecture.  

      "In regards to your aspirations for a... _job_ ," she utters the word with a measure of distaste.  "I assume you are referring to professions practiced by Betas and Alphas.  Well it seems to me that you are, in fact, unaware of your responsibilities as an Omega." 

      "I..."  He stutters again, trying to break through Ms. Lydia's river of words.  But to no avail. 

      "Your very existence is of paramount importance to continue the lines of many prominent families.  The very fact that your kind is rare in this world, let alone in our county, makes you a very valuable commodity indeed."  She says with a smile and a nod as if her words resolved things quite neatly. 

      "I am not a commodity!"  Stiles seethed. 

      "Oh, you very well are."  Ms. Lydia disagreed.  "As you well know, Omegas..."

      "Are the only ones capable of producing Alphas by birth when mated with an Alpha.  They are not only the most fertile of our kind, but they also produce children who have the highest likelihood of surviving past infancy and becoming powerful Weres.  Yes, I'm perfectly aware of the capabilities of my own biology."  Stiles bites back rather shortly. 

      Ms. Lydia narrows her eyes before charging on with her lecture.  "Although medical science has progressed far enough that the infant mortality from Alpha/Beta, Beta/Omega, and Beta/Beta pairing have significantly reduced in the past two decades, you are correct in your explanation that it is only by mating Alphas and Omegas will an Alpha be produced through natural childbirth.  Not to mention Beta/Omega children have significantly higher mortality rates than other pairings.  Therefore it is your responsibility..."

      "My fate, you mean."  He interrupts.

      "Your _responsibility_ , to continue worthy Alpha lineages."  Her eyes dart to the sheriff who had resolved to ignoring the whole exchange by downing an entire bottle of brandy by the fireplace.  "To continue your father's lineage for example.  You are the last of your kin, I presume?" 

      "I am."  The sheriff admits rather stiffly. 

      "Therefore your son is the last remaining heir of your land and fortune."  She explains brightly.  "Then once this... creature... that is your son passes on, all of your holdings would be allocated to the next most prominent Alpha family in the area."

       She swiftly turns with a click of her heels to look into Stiles' eyes.  "Is that your intent Mr. Stilinski?  For _all_ of your family's holdings, the wealth that has been accumulated through years of hard work by your kin, to merely be passed along to strangers?  Oh yes, you may argue that it would be quite simple for you to find a mate.  I can see that defiance in your eyes.  It is a look that I am quite familiar with.  You're thinking that perhaps you could settle with a Beta?  A Beta who would not only be incapable of defending your rather, rich, territory, but also could not guarantee you a child?  Are you willing to risk centuries of family history to satisfy your rebellious yearnings?  Or do you honestly believe that you are fully capable of finding an Alpha by yourself?  At your... condition?" 

      Stiles just stares at her, not quite knowing what to say. 

      "What will it be Mr. Stilinski.  I need an answer, here and now.  Will you do your duty, or will you risk everything for chance?"  She declares through narrowed eyes. 

      Stiles is silent for a long moment.  Longer than his father hoped, he was sure.  But Stiles was also sure that his father was just as likely to support his decision if he indeed went against society's convention for him to marry an Alpha.  He knew that his father's love for him and his desire for a happy life for his son would repudiate any and all concerns regarding the continuation of their bloodlines or the preservation of their fortune.  Such knowledge drew Stiles into the only course he knew he should take.

      "Duty it is."  Stiles says quietly as Ms. Lydia beams and claps her hands.  At the corner of his eyes Stiles observes the grief that briefly passes across the sheriff's face.  The older man empties his bottle of brandy before stepping out of the room, leaving his only son to the ministrations of the eager Matchmaker.      

       "Now, before arriving in Beacon Hills, I have already successfully compiled a list of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes that would prove to be worthy couplings."  Ms. Lydia says brightly before grabbing a sandwich from the tray of food surreptitiously deposited by the servants in the room.  Pouring herself some tea, with three sugars, she takes a sip before continuing on.  "It is of no small matter that I confess to you that I was triumphant in ensuring the presence of certain powerful families to our ball." 

      "A ball?"  Stiles startles.  He hated balls, even if it were to be his own.  "I hate balls."

      "Don't be absurd, nobody hates balls.  Everybody loves balls."  Ms. Lydia replies, waving off his whining.  "It shall be held here at Nemeton Manor, two evenings hence.  It shall give me plenty of time to make sure your are presentable before the guests arrive." 

      "Am I allowed to know which persons shall be attending my ball?"  Stiles sighs with resignation. 

      Ms. Lydia just stares at him for a moment, a twinkle positively bursting out of her eyes before the thin line of her lips exploded in the same manner.  "Oh, very well.  It is my absolute pleasure to inform you that I have secured the attendance of the Hales into the party."

      "The Hales?"  Stiles says with clear astonishment, his body freezing with shock. 

      Everyone knew of the Hales.  They were a large and prominent family in Beacon Hills who were just as old as their own.  Considering the size of their pack, their reputation has nearly surpassed that of the Stilinskis as of late.  Only his father's position as Sheriff of the County, their immense wealth, and their deep roots in the community that the name Stilinski still held some measure of prominence in the community.

      "I have secured the presence of Peter Hale for the ball.  I tried to secure the presence of his younger nephew, but frankly the young man is quite aloof to be of any importance, regardless of his name."  Ms. Lydia explains with a sneer.  "Mr. Hale's presence is quite a coup for you, you know.  The possible joining of your two households has caused quite a stir across the county."

      "I'm sure it has."  Stiles says blandly.  He wasn't particularly fond of the Hales, seeing as every Hale he has ever met has been the very epitome of arrogance, odious pageantry, and the stereotypical Alpha ruthlessness (a trait his father is renowned not to have carried).  Although many have argued that Talia Hale is a graceful, kind, and powerful matriarch of her family (a woman Stiles had had the pleasure of never having met), Stiles had at more than one occasion been witness to the brutality of the various Alphas that Hales call family.  He was not at all excited that they would be coming at all.  There was some consolation after hearing that there would be at least one Hale, Peter's younger nephew apparently, who would not be in attendance.  "Anybody else?"

      "Well of note there are the Crocusses of Concord with their Alpha twins Ethan and Aiden."  Ms. Lydia lists out.  "As well as the Argents of Apple Hill Park." 

      "The Argents?"  Stiles proclaims, surprised again.  Everyone knew of the Argents.  Many, if not most, Alphas were born into the stature, but everyone had heard how Gerard Argents had gained the Alpha stature long ago through violent blood.  "Who will I be matched with?"

       "Their sole Alpha daughter will be in attendance.  The lovely Lady Allison Argent."  She said brightly before biting into a scone.  "There are other minor Alphas from the surrounding areas of course, but those are the ones worthy of note.  In all honesty, my list would have been better of narrowed down to them.  But I suppose it would only be fair if the others were given a sporting chance."  She says with a wink. 

       Setting down her cup, Ms. Lydia dusts down her gloves before placing them on her hips.  Tilting her head curiously at Stiles, she narrows her eyes at his whole being.  Stiles felt a shudder pass through his whole body the moment those cold eyes touched his skin.  He knew the next words out of her mouth would not be pleasant ones. 

      "Now, on to the difficult task of making you presentable."  She said with frightening focus on her face.                   

      Let it be known that Reinwolf Zanzibar "Stiles" Stilinski did not go down quietly.   


	2. The Society

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Viscount and Sheriff are interchangeable. 
> 
> Edited only once. Likely didn't do it very well.

     There once was a time when Stiles greeted the rising sun with joy.  But presently Stiles, more than anything, wanted to lose himself in the darkness underneath his bed covers.  The moment she had arrived, Ms. Lydia had taken it upon herself to expound the virtues of the very Society that they belonged.  These lectures usually entailed the importance of tradition, position, and the responsibilities of the three pillars of Society; the Alphas, the Betas, and the Omegas. 

     "Omegas are the paradox of our world.  They are the weakest of our species, yet the most capable of producing the strongest of us.  They are the most capable of not only producing strong offspring, but they are also capable of inspiring virtues to the other classes of our hierarchy.  But your weak nature leaves you susceptible to the troubles of this _very_ dangerous world, and thus your kind are selfishly, and rightfully, guarded by kin and country."  She explains while buttering her crumpet.

     Or,

     "Duty is what separates us from our baser natures.  It is your duty as child, sole heir, and Omega to fulfill the prideful expectations of not only your pack, but of Society in whole.  As the Noble son of a prominent Alpha, it is your duty to shine as an example for the lesser people of Society, such as the Packless.  As the sole heir of your kin, it is your duty to ensure the continuation of your name through service in body and soul.  As an Omega, it is your duty to maintain the grand designs of Society."  She explains that first morning, pulling open the curtains so swiftly and carelessly that Stiles topples out of his bed in shock at the bright light.

     Worse was her uncanny ability to inspire others to do her bidding.  Although Stiles was the young Master of the manor, the servants had taken it upon themselves to serve Ms. Lydia hand in foot over that of Stiles' needs.  It was indeed a very strange thing that they would defer to her orders over his own.  He was breaking the evening's fast one morning with his father and Ms. Lydia when the most curious conversation between all three of them occurred.  In all his life, Stiles had never seen his father so incensed that his Alpha's eyes glowed their scarlet hue.  

     "Stiles will not be having eggs today, thank you very much."  She announces to a servant very sweetly that morning.  "Instead he will have a slice of toast with some jam and slices of cucumbers."

     The sheriff looks up from reading the county's morning papers to glance at the Matchmaker. 

     "I don't like jam."  Stiles replies.

     "In life, we must do things we care very little for.  It is the very essence of duty that we face these challenges with a smile and a hearty greeting."  She explains.  "This is particularly true for Omegas.  Although you seem to grasp some parts of your position in Society, you seem to suffer certain illusions not befitting of your station."

     "What would these illusions be?"  Stiles asks curiously, if not a bit wryly. 

     The sheriff takes care to fold the papers to turn his full attention to the Lady.  "I too am curious.  What illusions have beguiled my son?"    

     "Such as the talk of _jobs_ yesterday, it was quite scandalous.  Goodness what could have happened if he had spoken in the wrong company."  She whispers, as if she were speaking of something too immoral to be spoken aloud.  Looking up from her dish, she narrows her eyes at Stiles.  "I see now that you have been far too sheltered within the walls of this manor.  Although it is perfectly understandable considering your dubious upbringing; the lack of a proper Omega to guide you and all that.  Were there no other Omegas at your schooling?"

     "There was one other but we, shall we say, ran in different circles."  Stiles explained.  "Mostly I found myself solely in Scott's company." 

     "I gathered from your scent yesterday that you _do_ exercise the Victor's Favour?"  She tilts her head wonderingly.  "How many others have you serviced?"

     "He has only ever been with one.  His childhood friend, Scott McCall."  His father responds helpfully.  When Ms. Martin levelled the sheriff with a blank stare, he further elaborates.  "The Lord Kyle McCall, a Baronet of Knoll Park and husband of the Lady Melissa McCall, the Baroness of Cortona."

     "The father's a mere Baronet?  How droll."  She sniffs indignantly.  "Is all of this true?"  She asks before taking a sip of tea.    

     "It has only ever been with Scott, correct."  Stiles confesses.

     "With only one Beta?"  She says with surprise, chocking on her tea.  "Therefore you have not even experienced an Alpha's seed?"

      "No."  Stiles dryly retorts as he levels a glare at the piece of jam toast presented to him by a servant, all the while making an effort at not looking up at his father.  "And quite frankly I have no immediate plans to rectify that condition." 

     "It is no wonder that this Manor is in such disrepair and your pack struggles at the throes of extinction.  I have half a mind to reconsider my estimation of you, my lord."  She tells the sheriff while licking her wet lips.  Stiles dearly wished then that the Matchmaker had died from chocking on her tea.  "Think of it, sending your son to an institution that could not even properly school an Omega of their responsibilities." 

     "And I have half a mind to reconsider your presence in this house."  Stiles' father responds dryly, leaning forward to clasp his hands together on the table. 

     "And then what?  Mhm?"  Ms. Lydia leans forward in her seat to narrow her eyes at the sheriff.  "Pray tell, how do you suppose your son will win the favour of an Alpha on your own?"

     "Forgive me my lady, but I do believe it is _my_ favour that they have to gain."  Stiles smiles bitterly before his father could respond. 

     "Oh, you poor ignorant child."  Ms. Lydia says with a shake of a head.  "Your schooling has indeed been lacking if you entertain such foolish thoughts." 

     "It will be my choice.  My own actions.  My favour to give.  What more is there?"

     "And what do you suppose will occur if you abstain from making a choice?  Mhm?"  Ms. Lydia asks sweetly.  "Has such a thought ever occurred to you?"

      Stiles startles at Ms. Lydia's words.  Thinking over the accusation in his mind, it has never occurred to Stiles to abstain from choosing anyone.  But there were important reasons as to why an Omega had to choose a mate.  No wolf was a solitary creature and kept their minds or their lives, let alone an Omega.

      "An Omega is either overcome by superior Weres and forced into their pack, or they die as solitary creatures, broken and mad."  Stiles responds stiffly.

      "Correct."  She says as if she were teacher and Stiles a student.  "It is fair to say that marriage, madness, or death are rather unfortunate _choices_ without alternatives, don't you agree?'     

      Stiles remains quiet at her words, still glaring at the jam toast as if it had terminally offended him.  He says nothing as Ms. Lydia charges on with her lecture.  Risking a glance at his father, he curiously finds the man slowly turning into a dull shade of puce, his eyes burning slightly.  The sight of it surprised Stiles and almost startles him out of his seat before composing himself. 

     "It seems that you are more ignorant of the truth than I first suspected, you certainly _have_ lived a sheltered life."  She dabs at the corners of her mouth daintily with a kerchief before pressing forward.  "My dear, the truth of the matter is that you _have_ no choice.  The act of an Omega choosing an Alpha is an illusion.  It is an act invented by Society to keep your kind pleasantly in line.  There is no abstaining from the choosing.  The alternative is that you would be forcibly taken.  That or forcibly taken and then killed.  Or forcibly taken and die.  There is a difference there that I am sure even you understand.  Alphas and Betas entertain the great pleasure of not being subject to such conditions, a pleasure rightfully deserved through power.  It is a rather wonderful invention, mind you, this illusion.  Everyone's happier with such wilful ignorance.  And we can hold parties!  Your father certainly has been remiss for failing to educate you of this.  Of course you should have come to this conclusion yourself, but I suspect that you were blinded by naive optimism.  It is understandable of course, your title and your father has sheltered you from the truth of many things."  She laughs. 

     Stiles winces at her cackle and looks up to sneer at the woman.  "I refuse to subscribe to your bleak view of humanity.  The world is far more agreeable than the hellish society you painted." 

     Ms. Lydia sighs wearily.  "It is not a matter of pleasantness my young, ignorant, lord.  It is a matter of the state of things.  A matter of the truth of the world as it is, not how you hope it to be.  Alphas, and even Betas, are stronger and far more superior than Omegas, nobles or no, and therefore have our respect.  It would bode you well to remember that one should never make a habit of speaking disrespectfully of society my young lord, only people who can't get in to it do that."

     "That is enough Lady Martin.  Speak no further.  This treatise on our society ends now."  His father snaps sharply.  "It is not your place to lecture my son."  

     "No sir, it is yours."  She responds haughtily.  "Or it should have been.  This is an indispensable truth that the young lord must accept.  I have witnessed how he acts here, I shudder to think how he acts among dignified company.  It is of paramount importance that your son pay his betters the respect that they are due.  It would make for a more graceful coupling." 

     "Now I'm closer to understanding your pleasantly ruffian disposition."  The sheriff responds bitingly, a snarl coming through his words and his eyes positively glowing scarlet.  "You confuse fear with respect." 

     "In our world my lord, there is no difference."  Ms. Lydia says simply. 

     "To me Lady Martin, it makes all the difference."  The sheriff growls.  Accepting the loss of his appetite, Stiles merely sits quietly at the table, his eyes darting between his angry father and the madly calm Matchmaker.  Even though Ms. Lydia shakes her head wearily once more, Stiles is thankful that she says nothing further and simply continues to drink her tea. 

      His father's next words sent a shiver down his spine that Stiles could not contain.  "Stiles, I will have words with the Lady Martin.  If you would kindly provide us with some privacy." 

      Stiles does not hesitate to move out of the room before giving a quick bow at his father and the Lady Martin, the few servants in the room trailing after him.  He makes no effort to listen in on the conversation between the two, his mind already reeling from the exchange between him, his father, and the Matchmaker.  Yearning to calm his buzzing mind, he makes his way to the library to amend his thoughts into simpler things with written fantasy. 

      It is with a measure of relief that that morning's occurrence did not repeat itself; at least not in Stiles' company.  When next Stiles saw Ms. Lydia, she still maintained her habitually obnoxious behaviour but had begun to refrain from testifying her views of the world in his company.  Even when Scott finally graced her with his company, the Matchmaker merely tightened her lip, sniffed disdainfully, before verbalizing a terse response and turning her back.  Such a shift in demeanour caused Stiles to burn with curiosity but remained wary of any efforts that would cause the Matchmaker to regress to her brusquely inculcating self.  Which, perhaps, was for the best seeing as the manor buzzed with activity for the upcoming ball. 

     The spacious rooms were cleaned and prepared, flowers were replaced, furniture and curios were dusted, and all of their servants were educated for the upcoming event.  More Packless were temporarily leased for the ball, and the unfamiliar figures on top of the merciless ministrations by the Matchmaker on his person caused Stiles to buzz out of his skin. 

     Stiles had never tried on so many dress clothes in his life.  He was quite sure that they had frustrated the local tailor beyond belief.  There were piles of discarded clothes the afternoon prior to the ball littered about his bedroom.  The tailor and the Matchmaker were engaged in a rousing tête-à-tête that, Stiles was sure, titillated both individuals.  A heated debate occurred in determining whether or not Stiles would be wearing a gown or a coat. 

     "I am ever so envious of the Omegas' fantastic opportunity to wear clothes of either gender.  It's ever so practical.  Goodness, at times I do wonder what trousers would feel like."  Ms. Lydia chuckles behind her fan.  "And you would look so positively dashing in a gown."

     "A beautiful gown would do very well, of that I have no objection.  Particularly if it ends this torture."  Stiles huffs out.  "Anything at all would do well enough.  We've been here for hours, and frankly I'd wear a saddle if it causes me to wake from this nightmare." 

     But in the end they had settled he be dressed in a formal white, and unusually tight, frock coat with silk-faced lapels, a light grey waistcoat with striped trousers, black button boots, white gloves, and an Ascot-knotted cravat with pin. 

     It was with some trepidation, and after a lengthy inspection in front of a mirror, that Stiles admitted to himself that he looked positively dashing.            

      The manor and the grounds were almost unrecognizable come the appointed hour of the ball.  Torches lined the coach path to light carriages on their way.  All of the chandeliers, sconces, and gasoliers throughout the manor were lit and flooded all of the rooms with a golden tint.  A quadrille band played tranquilly in the beautifully prepared grand hall as the guests sauntered in.  A separate room was prepared to provide guests with a selection of refreshments from tea and coffee, biscuits, cakes, cold-tongues, and even sandwiches.  A regular supper for those who wished it was laid in a separate, and much larger, room.  The necessary fare of fowl, ham, and tongue was present along with a wide selection of trifles and blancmanges. 

     Stiles could not help but grudgingly admire all of the work that Ms. Lydia had done.  But the apparent magnitude of the event had Stiles reconsidering the amount of time it took for the lady to have prepared such a grandiose occasion.  Although he was told of it two evenings prior to the event, Stiles wonders just how long his father had already planned for the ball to occur and had kept it under wraps for so long.  A part of him resented this revelation.     

     His father's reeve had the task of greeting all of the guests and to herald them before the room.  Many, if not most, of the names that were announced were unfamiliar to Stiles.  All of them were dressed spectacularly, the men buttoned up in their waistcoats and the women in their properly coloured, ample dresses.  Scott had arrived earlier on in the day to keep Stiles company before the guests arrived.  He was dressed in a levée dress coat that displayed an ample shirt-front and black breeches.  He was quick to compliment Stiles on his appearance.  He was also just as quick to disappear once the guests arrived, seemingly vanishing into the ether. 

     He and his father were announced last, after the Lady Martin, to great applause.  As the two of them walked the length of the room, Stiles was perfectly conscious of the fact that many were not only bowing in deference to his father, but a good number of them made an effort to study his person.  After his father greeted the guests and welcomed them to their home, the party moved into the full swing of things. 

     Being the honouree, Stiles was flooded with offers to dance.  Not one to be accused of an incivility, he accepts all of them.  He dances with old men who spoke of their single children to him while they danced.  With mothers who offered their sons or daughters for a possible coupling.  And, at one time, of a particularly forceful widower who expounded on the virtues of her elderly, spinster child. 

     It was with welcome relief that Ms. Lydia took his company and ushered him about the room to introduce him to her most important guests. 

     He first met with two men who looked the same; the lords, and twins, Ethan and Aiden Crocuss.  Every part of them was a duplicate, from their stature to their hair.  At the moment they could only be told apart by Aiden's utility of a startlingly red dress-uniform.  It was with some surprise that Stiles senses Ms. Lydia's rising sexual interest after making their personal acquaintance. 

     "My lovely lords, I present to you the young Lord Reinwolf."  She twittered, batting her eyes particularly at Aiden. 

     "Please, Stiles."  Stiles interrupts before they could respond.  "I insist."

     Beside him Ms. Lydia twitches at his words.    

     "It is our pleasure, Stiles."  The two of them said together, each taking it in turn to take his hand to their lips. 

     The two of them does the same to Lydia's hands, and her particularly vulgar, and sexualized, scent spikes when Aiden's lips touches her skin.  Tentatively taking her hand back, she whips out her fan to hide her face. 

     The conversation with the twin lords was quite the disconcerting event for Stiles.  Occasionally the brothers had a tendency of completing each other's sentences, and at times seemingly responding to each other's thoughts.  Although they shared that rather curious trait, they held quite different personalities.  Where Ethan was soft spoken and charming, Aiden was more brazen and mischievous in his deeds.  With some measure of confusion, Stiles observed that Ms. Lydia, more often than not, was at the receiving end of such brazen deeds. 

     The four of them was in a particularly roundabout and dull conversation about the weather when the raucous laughter of several guests drew their attention.  It took a moment for Stiles to realize that the band had stopped playing save for one curious pianist. 

     "Oh, it's the Lord Hale."  Ms. Lydia breathed appreciatively.  Begging her pardon from the twin lords, she takes Stiles' hand in hers and make their through the crowd towards the pianist.  "You must make his acquaintance immediately.  I dare not risk his company to the others."

     The curious music played caught Stiles' attention.  The rhythm and the melody of the song was strange and unfamiliar, silly in comparison to what had been played; if not an outright abuse on the sensibilities of the evening.  But the watching crowd seemed to be entertained.  Upon closer inspection Stiles finds the man blindly playing the piano while keeping the crowd enraptured with a story he recounted.

     "... of course I found myself not only lacking a horse, but lacking clothes as well!  When I was offered one article of clothing in turn, I merely asked for one of my boots.  A boot I then proceeded to gleefully shove up his arse!"  He announced to a ringing chorus of laughter, his piano playing turning more erratic and frantic in turn.  "You can keep my boot, friend.  The location notwithstanding, I'm sure it will be good company to your good sense."    

     Many of the guests laughed, and a few of them even simpered at the man.  Completing his song with a flourish, the ballroom rang with their applause.  Smiling and waving at his captive audience, the charming Lord Hale blows them kisses and words of gratitude.  When it was finally established that he would not be playing an encore, the guests dispersed to their respective activities prior to Lord Hale's performance. 

     "That is not proper conversation for polite company!"  Ms. Lydia gasps out, her hand clutching her chest as if his story had wounded her gravely.  "Pardon me, my lord.  But it is best that such stories are not shared in such unabashed fashion." 

     "I beg your pardon my lovely lady."  The Lord Hale says with a wildly flourished bow.  "I did not mean to offend your sensibilities.  I feared boredom creeping up into my person and I resolved to entertain myself."

     "Boredom?  At a ball?"  Ms. Lydia cries, aghast.  "There are far too many things to do in a ball such as this to find yourself succumbing to boredom." 

      "Alas, I found myself doing nothing when I had arrived."  He continues with a devilish smile.  "A condition I abruptly cured with _unabashed_ entertainment."

      "Doing nothing?  Idle men are positively sinful.  I admire an ethic to work."  She sniffs haughtily. 

      Lord Hale's lips twitched as if a smile threatened to burst from his lips.  "This is indeed a pleasure.  Lady Martin, you are, I trust, well?"

     "It would do well that you limit your efforts at entertainment within the confines of civil society, my lord."  She says.  "It is a pity that we were not privy to such talent tonight.  I was quite certain that you were better trained than that." 

     "I don't play accurately.  I play with expression."  He says with a wink at Stiles.  "The very essence of romance, is uncertainty.  Don't you agree my young lord?"

     Taking Stiles hand into his, the Lord Hale touches his lips to his skin, his eyes never leaving Stiles' own.  There was an ember behind the shining irises that Stiles could see.  The man tightened his hands on his, his lips even lingering on Stiles' skin. 

     "I present to you, the young Lord Reinwolf Stilinski."  She announces before turning to face Stiles.  "This is the Lord Peter Hale, the younger brother of the Alpha Talia Hale." 

     "Please, call me Stiles.  I insist."  Stiles repeats to Ms. Lydia's great consternation.  

     "You know, you've always held an irresistible fascination.  Stiles, what an stimulating name.  Everything else is so... plain."  Peter says with a mischievous smile. 

     "'I've always held an irresistible fascination'?"  Stiles parrots incredulously.  "My Lord Hale..."

     "Peter... please, I insist."  He interrupts.

     "Peter it is then." he says with a smile.  "As I was saying, I do believe that this is the first time that we've met." 

     "You are incorrect, I'm afraid."  He responds kindly.  "You were quite young then, of course.  You might not remember me then, you were not the young man your are now.  But my sister and I, along with our father, had visited this manor many moons ago.  My father has passed now, but I remember that time vividly.  You threw a loaf of bread at my head during dinner."

     "What?"  Ms. Lydia asks with surprise, not noticing the startled look that crosses Stiles' own face.

     "I... I'm sorry, my lord."  Stiles says simply, still shocked at what Peter had revealed.  "I hope I did not cause any grave offence." 

     "Oh, it's quite alright."  He says with a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with mirth.  "It was very delicious bread.  On the other hand, I could have done without the block of cheese that followed." 

     Stiles could not hold back the laugh that escaped his lips.  The laughter was further fuelled by the disapproving look that Ms. Lydia held on her face. 

      Stiles was pleasantly surprised with the company of the Lord Hale.  He was charming, charismatic, and had a fantastic ability to irritate Ms. Lydia; despite the omen that is his family name.  These were all positive qualities that Stiles appreciated.  He was also very handsome with his chiselled features and piercing eyes.  His scent was positively intoxicating to his senses as well, and he could not help but be aroused while in his vicinity.  Peter sniffed appreciatively and smiled but said nothing of it as they made each other's acquaintance.  Stiles would have gladly spent the entire evening in the older man's company, if it were not for his duties to meander amongst the guests.  Frustratingly, Ms. Lydia made sure that he was not remiss with his obligations.  Peter waved them off with a smile and a goodbye, providing another lingering kiss on Stiles' hand; this time turning it over to sniff at his wrist and provide a gentle lick on the skin where his pulse would be. 

      It signified his interest.

      It also received an approving nod from Ms. Martin. 

      Ms. Martin also had ushered him to another spot in the room before Stiles could qualify his surprised feelings for an appropriate response.   

      As the evening wore on, Stiles found himself growing impatient with the sheer number of people he had to entertain.  After politely excusing himself from his guests, and an insistent excuse to Ms. Martin, Stiles makes his way out of the manor and into the grounds. 

     The night was clear of clouds and the stars shone brightly in the sky.  The moon was a bright, sharp, crescent that pierced the blackness, and the cool wind that touched his skin was its breathe.  The music and the voices was a dull thrumming in the distance, and the air was only filled with the sounds of his own breathing and his rapidly beating heart.  So it was quite a surprise when another voice broke through the relative silence behind him. 

     "The young lord is overwhelmed by all of his admirers?"  The voice said.  While not particularly hostile, Stiles did not take is as a friendly one either.  "Or did he perhaps come to gift the night with his glorious presence."

     "Excuse me sir, but I do not care for your tone."  Stiles says.  "Have I done something to offend you?"

     "You and all of your kind offends my sensibilities."  The man utters.  Walking out of the dark shadow of a tree and into the moonlight, Stiles sees his critic for the first time. 

     If there would only be one word to describe this man, it would be handsome.  He was handsome, of the rugged kind.  He was tall and wide, fit, and filling nicely into his coat.  His features were sharp and his face was shadowed by the inklings of a beard.  "The trivial and gross entitlements of the privileged marring the beauty and silence of the night." 

     "If we insult you to such a degree sir, then why pray tell have you deigned to bestow us with your surly company?"  Stiles huffs out, straightening his back before narrowing his eyes at the man.  "You are in my land and it would do well for your to show some respect." 

     "I'm of the belief that respect is something to be earned."  the man says disdainfully, sniffing at the air before looking up to glare at the moon.  "Not something to be bought or passed along like titles and land.  You have to earn my respect before you can have it."

     "Well then, it then follows that you have to earn mine.  I assure you sir, at the moment that is an improbability."  Stiles snaps, his words earning a surprised look from the insufferable man.  "If you care very little for our company, it would do well for you to take your leave."      

     The surly man just stares at him for a moment, studying things on his person that Stiles did not understand.  "I had business with your father.  But I was not aware that you were entertaining tonight."

     "Who are you?"  Stiles asks with narrowed eyes. 

     The man was silent for a moment, just staring into Stiles' eyes, before he moved to walk away.  "No matter.  I shall see your father another time.  When there are less parasites in sight." 

     "Good riddance."  Stiles mutters as the man walks away, fading into the dark.    

     Stiles' surly mood grew after his bitter exchange with the stranger.  An attractive stranger, mind you, but an infuriating one nonetheless.  Moving to avoid the milling guests in the house, and the possibility of being dragged off once more by Ms. Lydia, Stiles takes a roundabout route to sneak into his room in the second floor of the manor.  He wished for a short reprieve in the silence of his room but instead was greeted by two moaning bodies writhing atop his bed.  The two bodies scramble up as Stiles makes his way inside, the latter boy heaving out a sigh as he recognizes his friend Scott on his bed with a lovely looking young lady. 

     "So this is where you've been hiding all night?"  Stiles points at him accusingly.  Turning to the lady, Stiles gives a little bow.  "How do you do, my lady?  I am Stiles, the proprietor of this room and the bed that you are marking with your lover, who happens to be my best friend."

     Pushing Scott away softly, the young lady shuffles off the bed before curtsying back Stiles' greeting.  "Forgive me, I seem to have lost myself." 

     "I would venture a guess that you would likely find yourself left behind on my friend's tongue."  Stiles responds with amusement. 

     Rubbing his mussed hair, abashed, Scott smiles at his friend.  "Stiles, this is Allison.  Allison, this is my good friend Stiles.  This ball is being held for him.  Allison is one of your guests.  Her parents had urgent business to attend to and therefore could only come by herself tonight."

     "Oh, I don't know.  I'm sure you gave it your all to make sure she wouldn't come by herself."  Stiles could not resist saying, despite himself, his mouth moving regardless of his mind's counsel.  Thankfully Allison laughed at the comment, earning a lopsided, and shockingly embarrassed, grin from his friend. 

      "I'm sorry Stiles.  I'm sorry I was not there to help you through the evening, but I had immediately urgent matters to attend."  Scott says with dramatic flourish.  "Matters of the heart that is." 

      Stiles raised a brow curiously at his friend while Allison merely blushed in silent study of Scott's face. 

     "Stiles, I do believe I'm in love."  Scott breathes out as Allison gasps.  "I do believe I found my true mate." 

     "But you've just met!"  A wide eyed Stiles points out. 

     "Me too!"  Allison declares in turn before throwing her arms around Scott's neck and proceeds to suck out his tongue with her mouth. 

     Stiles can't help the groan that escapes his lips.  Watching his friend absurdly proclaim finding true love as well as marking his bed with his lover was not how Stiles envisioned his evening ending.  Thankfully a knock on the door and a servant making his way into his room to announce that Stiles' presence, as well as all guests, were required in the great room ended the couple's efforts to lose each other in the other's throats. 

     "See?  What did I tell you?"  Scott utters wonderingly as they make their way down to the hall.  "True mates can be found in the most unlikely of places with the most unlikely of people in the most unlikely of situations." 

     "Charming."  Stiles mutters dully.  "I didn't think it would be on my four poster bed." 

     Further discussion of Scott's seemingly ridiculous proclamation was interrupted by a servant ushering him into a corner of the ballroom where his father and Ms. Martin stood; the former frowning grumpily, the latter beaming with excitement.  His father pulls him into a hug and kisses him on each cheek before turning to address the crowd.  Beside him Ms. Martin gives him a smug smile.  A sense of foreboding came over Stiles then. 

     "As I was saying, I thank you all for coming here tonight.  But it is my great pleasure to," the sheriff pauses, his eyes closing for a moment before moving on, "... my great pleasure to announce that a decision has been made regarding my son's coupling."

     The crowd looked on eagerly and quietly, only the sound of their breathing and of slightly shifting bodies filling the room.  His father opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  Instead he closed his eyes sadly before turning them onto Ms. Martin, giving her a terse nod. 

     "The lovely Lady Martin shall explain." 

     Eagerly, Ms. Lydia steps forward, her gown rustling at the movement.  She smiles and curtsies at the sheriff before turning to face the crowd.  "Prospective couplings have been made.  It is the Viscount Stilinski's ruling that a trial coupling shall be done.  Four have been selected as prospective mates for the young Lord Reinwolf..."

     "Stiles."  Stiles interrupts automatically. 

     "The Lord Reinwolf Zanzibar Stilinski.  The length of time for the trial and other details shall be appraised with the respective parties involved, with a final ruling to be determined only by the Viscount Stilinski."  She proclaims, trudging along as if Stiles had not interrupted her. 

      Stiles heart began to pound in his chest, his mind buzzing with thoughts that he, for the moment, did not wish to entertain.  The words coming out of the Matchmakers mouth would forever alter the course of his life.  It was an expected, and sometimes eagerly awaited, fate for all Omegas.  It was how Stiles was supposed to feel at that moment, eager, but for the life of him he could not.  There was a knot in his stomach that would not unwind, and a buzzing in his ears that would not dull.  He unwillingly recalls an argument between him, his father, and the Matchmaker early one morning.  An argument that had cracked a hole in the wall of his sheltered life. 

     "Four Alphas have been chosen.  The Alpha Lords Aiden and Ethan Crocuss, Lord Peter Hale, as well as the Lady Allison Argent."  She cries to shocked murmurs and applause.  Ms. Lydia wears the biggest smile in the room and claps the loudest. 

     Stiles stands dumbstruck before all of them, the weight of the names she had called slowly crushing his resolve to remain calm.  The Alpha twins were not a surprise, but something he did not desire nonetheless.  But worst was a Hale's name being called out, his every unkind thought about their kin being pushed to the forefront of his mind, no matter the charm of one Peter Hale. 

      But worst of all was the weight of the last name to be called for it was the biggest surprise of them all.  For Stiles had not met her in the ball.  It had not occurred to him at that time, failing to make the connection, but Stiles did not meet her at the ball but met her in his room instead.  Stiles made the acquaintance of the lovely Allison Argent as she was wrapped in his best friend's arms.  This was the Alpha that Scott called his true mate. 

      He sees them in the crowd, and the utter shock of it all are echoed in their faces.  Scott's face warps quickly into a harsh growl that Stiles hardly sees for the weight of it all had finally descended on his person.  He saw a harsh pain etched in the eyes of his father that for the first time in his life Stiles could understand.  Because now he was faced with only four choices in his life and all four choices only led to one outcome that brokered the common lie.        

      It had become a very frustrating night.  Compounding his misery was Stiles' inability to remove a well chiselled, impertinent, face from his mind that seemingly thrummed an unusually dull ache in his heart.  He wished for the next day, hoping it was all a dream and that the misery would pass.  But truth was haunting, and it troubled him even when he was awake.  The next day would come and a mate still had to be found.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should update the tags, but I'll do that when the fic ends... yeesh. 
> 
> Next Chapter: "The Wolves"


	3. The Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know Peter Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated Happy (Canadian) Thanksgiving to you all. *hurk* A week off and I'm still stuffed. Gobble gobble. 
> 
> Sorry, here it is. I added stuff to make it bigger. Giant sized. Almost 7k words sized. 'Cause I pissed some of you off for not updating last week. Yarg. Anyway, expect the next chapter next week. 
> 
> Also, notice I updated the tags as per request. I'm still not putting up some relationship tags cause... spoilers. Sorry about that if it'll cause some stuff because of it. But I want to keep some things secret until they actually happen. 
> 
> Also, I should edit... sorry again. Blah. Tell me if there's something I missed during my rush job editing so I can fix it. Thanks. Then I'll go over it myself tonight... or tomorrow.
> 
> MORE NOTES AT THE END

     There was little enough in him to smile, for he was a sullen fellow and ungracious in his manners to the Matchmaker.  In his mind, she was deserving of it.  It was true that he was unfamiliar with the Matchmaking scheme, but he was under the expectation  that there would be a measure of choice on his part; even if it were, as she had said, merely the illusion of one.  But her decision during the ball prickled him, even if it was not at all unexpected.  Stiles took the news rather petulantly and with a measure of sedition. 

     " It is not for you to dictate terms, Stiles, but for you to accept them."  She replied after a particularly vocal outburst on his part, glower and all.  This all occurred within the confines of the manor drawing room and, to his relief, far from the ears of his father.  It was still in him to avoid raising his father's concerns.  "No wolf is a society of one.  It naturally follows that the actions of others must be taken into consideration.  In this sense it is my actions, and to an extent your father's, that holds the most weight for your coupling.  I would think that you would be grateful.  I provided you with many significant prospects."

     "I find my frustrations bubbling out, my lady, and I fear that you will be the victim of it.  This is a delicate matter and I must insist that this issue of my marriage be done with some measure of my influence."  Stiles pressed.  "Others have the capacity to..."

     "You cannot afford to do what other men can."  the Matchmaker interrupts.  "Or will I have to remind you of that fact once more?  Mhm, no.  I've grown tired of it.  We will not repeat that conversation again.  Frankly, I don't understand why you're so angry.  Should you succeed in mating one of the three families, your future is all but secured and your fortune shall be safe.  Not many are capable of gaining the interest of these three particularly powerful families." 

     Stiles hesitates for a moment, taking a moment to compose himself before resorting to the truth.  "I can't imagine myself with a Hale.  They're barbarous brutes who govern more with their fists than their minds.  As for the twins, I have a sneaking suspicion that you'd be far more successful in securing their hand than I ever could.  Finally, I cannot possibly choose the Argent girl." 

     The Matchmaker tilts her head curiously before replying with a dry tone.  "And why not?  Granted their name does not have the most... apposite of histories.  Everyone knows the origin of their wealth and career.  It really is quite scandalous.  No amount of money and status can buy back one's past.  But nonetheless they've amassed both a sizable fortune in investments and influence in government.  It would do well to forge connections with their family."     

      "I'm afraid her attentions have been set elsewhere.  The coupling would not be possible even if I wished it." 

      Ms. Lydia scoffs and waved a lazy hand at his face.  "Don't be ridiculous.  I've heard nothing of the sort.  My correspondence with their matriarch assures me that the Lady Allison is quite unattached.  Unless,"  She pauses and levels a critical look at Stiles.  "you have news that contradicts her words?"

     Loyalty to his friend, and being unsure if Scott and Allison wished their relationship to be known, has Stiles holding his tongue.  "I suspect no information could ever reach my ears before they reach yours." 

     "Undoubtedly."  She replies with a smile before quickly levelling it with a sombre look.  "As for your other concerns, frankly I don't understand this irrational dislike towards the Hales.  The Lady Talia Hale is quite powerful and respected in not only our circles but in government as well.  I imagine all those brutish rumours come from small minded men and jealous rivals."

     Stiles raises his brow sceptically.  "And the twins?"

     Ms. Lydia whips out her fan to cover her face.  "I don't know what you mean."  Taking a brief moment for herself, her eyes revealing nothing, she then begins to lazily fan her face as she spoke to Stiles.  "They're quite interested in you.  And can you imagine how magnificent it would be if you bonded with both of them?  Granted, such situations are rare but not unheard of.  You must make sure to arrange a contest between the three of you and lose.  It would be quite the coup to initiate the Victor's Favour with the twin lords."

     Stiles sighed resignedly and falls back onto a golden ottoman bench.  "Then, what now?" 

     "Now you spend time with each of them before a decision is negotiated between all the parties involved.  This is the fun part."  Ms. Lydia says gleefully.  "This is where they do their best to woo you as you do so in turn." 

     "Woo?"  Stiles asks, the word an oddity on his tongue. 

     "Woo."  Ms. Lydia repeats from behind her fan, her eyes shining with glee.     

     It had been decided between all of the parties that Stiles be present at Lord Hale's Dow Wetlands property first, follow by the twins' property at Sommersville, for their Markham property in Concord was too far, and then lastly to make Lady Allison Argent's acquaintance at her Highland Ranch property, seeing as it was the furthest of them all.

     He had hoped to converse with his father before he had left Nemeton, but the Viscount had been summoned to the city for urgent business that Stiles apparently was not privy to.  As a small consolation, the elder man had left Stiles with a letter that remained unopened in his breast pocket.  The hustle and bustle of preparing to travel to the Dow Wetlands took more of Stiles time than was absolutely necessary.  He was glad to do it as it amounted to very little time spent in the company of the Matchmaker.     

     Peter had already begun to 'woo' Stiles.  The evening after the ball, a bouquet of rare flowers arrived with a charming note for him which were also attached to a box of imported chocolates.  The morning after that, a trunk arrived with a bundle of new clothes stuffed inside of it.  Then of all things, that following afternoon Peter sent Stiles six chickens, four pigs, three goats, two sheep, and a cow.  What Stiles found absurd was the fact that all of the animals had been painted red. 

     "Mhm, he certainly is charming."  Ms. Lydia observes while the curiously foolish looking cow gnawed on the fur of one of the trapped, and irate, sheep.  "He's trying to point out that he can provide for you.  And red is the colour of life.  It is his way of expressing that he would be a virile match."

     "Yes, I'm well aware of what that means, thank you."  Stiles said shortly.  "But I do wish he had sent something that couldn't defecate on my loafers.  And call me mad, but that cow acts highly suspicious."

     The morning of his departure for the Dow Wetlands, Stiles received a very curious present.  A pair of embossed cufflinks in the shape of two wolves.  It was a delightful present, but the significance of it was lost to Stiles.  He hid this particular present from the Matchmaker for fear that she would read something more considerable in it than there probably was.   

     It was hardly an excursion to foreign lands but Stiles treated his journey to Peter's country house as such, bundling as much home comforts as he could manage in separate carriages before departing.  By the end of it, Stiles found himself travelling with an entourage of four carriages through Antioch.   

     "A dozen portmanteaus, dressing cases, and hat boxes as well as... luncheon baskets?  Were you concerned we wouldn't be feeding you?"  Peter greeted him as his servants unburdened the carriages when Stiles arrived on his property.        

     "Well, I don't know what to expect.  I've never been coupled before.  I reckon it's an experience I'd better face with a full stomach."  Stiles replied simply, earning an amused smile from Peter. 

      For all of the reputation of his family, Peter was an unusual man.  Where Stiles expected someone harsh and arrogant, Peter was charming, jovial, and surprisingly self-effacing, if the man from the ball was anyone to go by.  Stiles had expected a cold welcome, one where only the servants would greet him at the doors and he would be ushered into Peter's study for the reception.  But Peter stood before him in casual finery, dressed comfortably but dressed well, with a bright smile plastered on his face.  It was his eagerness that surprised Stiles the most.  When the issue of the matchmaking was first raised, the potentiality of one who was genuinely interested in him never crossed his mind.  But Peter's greeting of him signalled his intent and more. 

      Taking Stiles' hand into his, Peter grazes his teeth along Stiles' wrist, breathing out a hot gust of air onto the skin, before licking his pulse gently.  Then stepping forward, the man burrows his face into the crook of Stiles' neck and breathes in deep before rumbling out his approval of Stiles' scent.  The rumbling only deepened when Stiles in turn, as a measure of civility, tilted his head back to give the man more access to more of his throat.  Stiles was immensely flattered when he felt the nip of teeth and the wet caressing of tongue on his skin.  Peter then wound his arms around the young lord to pull him tighter against his body.  Stiles could feel Peter's happiness against his own crotch, the heft of Peter's happiness crystal clear on the stiffness of his person.  Not to mention the scent of his arousal permeated the air about them.    

     "I am immensely happy that you are here Stiles."  Peter rumbles against Stiles' neck. 

     "Thank you my lord, as am I."  Stiles responds courteously. 

     "Peter, I must insist."  He clarifies this insistence by bucking his hips forward to flaunt his eagerness for immediate familiarity.

      It was with some measure of relief on Stiles' part that Peter soon steps back slowly to oversee his luggage being moved into the house.  Although the interest was in him to return all of Peter's affections, there was more than enough reservation in his mind to restrain himself from doing so.  Peter was attractive, that was clear enough, and he, thus far, seemed a man of culture, charm, and distinction. These were things to be valued in Stiles' mind, and his wolf was more than ready to bare its neck to one who not only smelled so pleasantly but also seemed quite eager for affection.  But the pestering doubt in his mind pulled him back from any grandiose declarations of feeling as his common sense insists on the relative unfamiliarity that the two shared with the other. 

      Admittedly, there was also the mulish voice in his mind that refused to admit that Ms. Lydia had done something right. 

     "Are you prepared to admit that I've done something right?"  A garish voice greeted him from the landing above the portico of the house.  A voice that stiffened his muscles and forced a weary breathe out of his lungs.  

     "Ms. Lydia, this is a pleasant surprise."  Stiles greeted dryly, looking up and flourishing his hands in the air as greeting when he beheld the lady above him wearing a startlingly orange gown. 

     "I'm sure."  Ms. Lydia replied blandly, her lips pursing sceptically.  "I hope you didn't think my task was done?  I'm here to oversee that this whole business moves as smoothly as possible."    

     "Excellent.  I was stricken with horror at the thought that I might never see your lovely face again."  Stiles says as earnestly as he could muster.  By the look on the Matchmaker's face, he had failed miserably. 

     "Mhm."  She replies simply, twirling her fan in her right hand.  The act of it was not lost on Stiles.  He was familiar with the ways of the fan.  It was the subtle manner of saying without words, 'I am watching you'.  Stiles didn't think she meant that amicably.      

     Looking about him, Stiles drew in the grandeur of Peter's home.  It was set along a marsh bank, with loons and cranes twittering away in the distance, the lovely reeds dancing lazily among slow, flowing, waters.  There was significant woodland that surrounded the manor as well as a paved drive, a rarity in the area, that lead out towards a road that continued to the centre of town.  Moss covered cobblestone walls surrounded the property while the grounds were littered chaotically with a wide variety of flowers and shrubbery; wild vines crept up the dull, golden, stone walls of the house.  An elaborate portico stood at the main entrance, with a landing at the top, leading to a set of ornately carved wooden doors that followed on to the great hall.  The house stretched out on both sides from the great hall with a great number of windows set at the front fitted with slopping grey, tiled, roofs at the top, and edges that had been styled with decorative Guelph merlons. 

     "You have a beautiful house Peter."  Stiles said honestly. 

     Peter smiled widely at the compliment.  "Thank you.  It was a small abbey that fell into disuse at the early part of the century.  I bought it and converted it into a home I could call my own."

     "You live in an abbey?"  Stiles couldn't help but show the amusement in his voice. 

     "Yes.  Some in Society thought I'd burst into flames the moment I stepped foot in the place."  He replies with a smirk.  "I can't for the life of me know why."

     Stepping forward, he gestures with his hands as they walked through the great hall.  "The great hall used to be a nave, with the presbytery at the far end.  I've removed that part of the house and converted it into a peristyle with a garden.  I am unable to extend further out into that direction due to the slough.  I then expanded out of the transepts to build larger rooms where the dorters stood, but the original architecture is still intact and acts as the hallways."

     "It was a small abbey, mind you."  Ms. Lydia's voice greeted them from behind.  "There was no cloister and the refectory was quite small.  There was no lavatory, the kitchen was undersized, the cellar had caved in, while nature had reclaimed the yard.  But you've made do I suppose.  It's quite impressive considering what little you had to work with.  Although I don't for the life of me understand why you didn't just requisition a new build."

     "I liked the history of the place."  Peter said simply.  "And there's something to be said about one's capacity to alter history."        

     "A wise woman once said that the soothing thing about history is that it does repeat itself.  Only fools try to change it."  She sniffed.  "The wise welcome it and merely prepare for its consequences, while politicians use it to justify their questionable intentions."

     "I'm of the mind that history is something to be used to educate in an effort to shape the future.  That a man can use history as a guide of what must not be done again."  Peter pressed, his face narrowing grimly. 

     "One's past is the way one is.  How else should a person be judged?"  Ms. Lydia scoffs. 

     "With the way they could be."  Peter replies stiffly.     

     There was a silence between them that surprised Stiles.  Ms. Lydia had her hands clenched tightly on her fan, while Peter continued to level her with a look of deep consternation.  Stiles shifted restlessly from foot to foot, unsure of the rather sudden shift in the mood of the place.    

     "Ms. Lydia, I do believe you are far too cynical about the conversion of an abandoned rectory."  Stiles interjected awkwardly, chuckling through his anxiousness.   

     "Cynicism is the recourse of the wise, Stiles.  You would do well to remember that."  She replies calmly before walking off down the hall. 

     When Peter was thereafter occupied by important business, Stiles moved about to explore the place.  The house was larger than he expected, but smaller than his own home.  He could indeed observe the difference between the old stone of the abbey and the new stone that had been build beyond it.  It was a curious thing that Stiles observed that Peter had very few servants moving about the place.  He counted only about half a dozen of them moving about being busy with housework.  He was delighted to find that the place had a library with a sizeable collection of books.  He was more than willing to spend much of his time in the space if it were not due to the irritating presence of a pestering Matchmaker and her ridiculous guide to perfect gentility. 

     "There is something to be said about being _too_ well read, Stiles."  She said the first time he insisted on staying in to read in the library.  "It is all good to shine in the art of conversation, but one must be sure to shine not too brightly.  The voice is more important than the content of speech, and it must be practiced with a distinct but subdued tone."

     It was an unfortunate hour spent with Ms. Lydia educating him of the way he must speak to Peter; of subjects to avoid such as politics and religion unless it was broached by the Alpha himself.  Stiles was growing weary of her overbearing manner and deeply wished for the simple company of his good friend Scott.  A friend he regrets not having seen since the revelation at the ball.  Stiles figures that Scott may not be all too happy at the turn of events at the end of that night.  He reminds himself to send a letter out to rectify that situation. 

     "Conversation is not to talk continually, but to listen and speak in our turn."  She informs with a knowing nod. 

     "Advice you would do well to follow yourself Lydia."  Stiles points out.

     "This is instruction, Stiles, not conversation."  She retorts. 

     "Why were you so short with Peter this morning?"  He asks instead, earning a startled look from the woman. 

     "I don't know what you mean."  She says evasively, flipping her fan open to cool herself. 

     "Oh come on.  We were talking about his house when you started blathering off about history and the like.  What was that about 'one's past is the way one is' and all that not-so-subtle condemnation."  He presses.  "There something more about it, isn't there?"

     "Nonsense, you were imagining things.  Meaningless banter to whittle away time, that's all it was."  She said brushing off his sceptical look.  "Now enough of this, we have more to discuss before dinner." 

     Despite the curiosity that bubbled out of him, Stiles did not have the opportunity to press the issue as the Matchmaker continued on with her ridiculous instructions.  It was with tremendous relief when the bell that signalled dinner rang for that evening.

     The following days with Peter went astonishingly well.  He had proven himself in touch with the esteem that Stiles had bestowed upon his person.  He was an active man who frequently engaged himself in sport.  He ran, hunted, and even reconnoitred his territory himself.  Peter had the grace to include Stiles in one of his jaunts who was more than eager, a feeling he did best to repress, to join him.  Of course Stiles knew the meaning behind it all.  It was Peter's way of showing him just how large his territory was and how well defended despite its size.  Not to mention that abundant wildlife that lived in the Dows, they certainly were not lacking any game when they hunted. 

     The man's virility certainly was a non-issue.  It was well known that hunting had the tendency of arousing with its carnage and blood, this fact occurring more often with Alphas than the other castes.  Stiles could sense Peter's arousal even before the man went for the kill.  Peter's arousal always peaked when his muzzle became covered with blood.  It was the first time that Stiles had seen Peter's Alpha form and it certainly was magnificent to behold.  It was a large creature with the figure of a tall man, but the hair, and head of a fierce wolf. 

     After feasting on the carcass, and then offering it to Stiles, Peter would make the sound signalling his interest for favours.  Stiles was more than willing to reward him with a limited one, an opportunity that Peter was eager to take.  The man in this form would move to nuzzle Stiles' crotch, itself aroused by the site of Peter's manhood, and would eagerly lick patches up his body.  The coarse feeling of his tongue on Stiles' bare skin was excruciatingly wonderful to experience, and it took much of Stiles' control to restrain himself.  Peter was especially fond of nuzzling his face in Stiles' rear and bathing it with his coarse tongue.  But as it was a limited favour, these excursions merely ended with Peter covering Stiles' body in a copious amount of his seed.  As a show of good manners, Stiles made sure to taste the seed before the Alpha, who rumbles his chest appreciatively at the sight of it. 

     Everything was going quite well, and Stiles thought that the Matchmaker, of all people, would be quite pleased with the progress of it all.  But it began to seem to Stiles that for every moment that Peter and him spent becoming closer, the more sullen and biting the Matchmaker became.  The bigger surprise was that Peter tolerated this fact in his presence.  The biggest surprise was that the Matchmaker would act so rude in his presence in the first place.  Well, even more than normal.       

     During his fifth evening at the Dows, Peter informed Stiles that they would be expecting a guest.  It was a man that Peter knew through business, and that there apparently had been a situation in the city that necessitated Peter's opinions on certain matters of importance. 

     "What is this trouble with the city that I've heard about?  My father had left for the city as well before I came here."  Stiles asked that night. 

     "As well as the Viscount should.  But it is business that you should not concern yourself with love, it is far too stressful for your kind."  Peter responded simply before placing a kiss atop his head. 

     Stiles bristled with indignation at the slight, for _his_ kind was more than capable of dealing with stress; he thought to himself.  Unfortunately the comment had been far too startling and Stiles lost the opportunity to retort before Peter left the room.  It didn't help matters that he felt a leap of joy, to his surprise, at being regarded as 'love' by the Alpha.  Stiles became a jumble of emotions that occupied him before the Matchmaker arrived for her daily lectures once more.      

     The next night Peter was already in the dining room when they arrived down for the evening meal, standing before the fireplace and leaning against the mantle while he observed the flames.  He turns to greet them with a smile the moment he heard their foot steps enter the room.  Stiles tilts his head in greeting earning a pleased look from the older man who proceeds to nuzzle his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, rubbing the skin tenderly with his rough, lightly bearded face.  The older man's hands caresses down Stiles' spine, sending a jolt of arousal through his body.

     Peeking curiously at the Matchmaker beside him, it was an amusing sight to behold two seemingly conflicting emotions crossing her face at once; one of approval and another of disapproval.  Ms. Lydia quickly had the courtesy to hide this conflict behind her fan.        

     At the sight of the amount of food set on the table, Stiles grudgingly admitted that his initial concerns about not being fed might have been unfounded.  During the week, Peter had gone above and beyond in providing nourishment for him and Ms. Lydia. 

     "I made sure to include some of the kill you won during our run last night."  Peter said with wink and earning an awkward blush from Stiles after a particularly sensual lick of his throat. 

     Shortly thereafter the loud creaking sound of the dining room door opening pulls their attention.  A tall, well built, and bald man sauntered into the room with a wide smile on his face.  Peter detaches himself from Stiles to greet the man in an eager embrace. 

     "Ennis, it is good to see you, friend."  Peter said with eager pats on the tall man's broad shoulders. 

     "You as well."  The man said with a wide smile before his gaze shifted to Stiles.  "And is this the magnetic Omega that he has told me about?"

     "He's spoken of me?"  Stiles says with a slight surprise. 

     "Of nothing but."  Ennis replies.  "Good things I assure you.  Frankly I've never seen the man read so happy in a page that the words practically danced themselves to life." 

     "It is very easy to be happy in Stiles' presence.  I am very grateful for it."  The simple honesty and tenderness in Peter's voice and on his face had Stiles at a loss for words. 

     After greetings were made all around, the three of them moved to make their seats at the table.  It was a curious thing for Stiles to notice that Ennis had not yet touched Stiles at all, had not even offered to shake his hand.  Stiles observed that the man had even kissed Ms. Lydia's hands and had been far closer to her person than his.  He found it disconcerting when he realized that Ennis had so readily accepted Peter's claim the moment he had entered the room and had given Stiles an acceptable distance.  The moment was astonishingly surreal and caused the young man to become conscious of the reality of it all.  Others had seemingly grasped how close he had gotten to Peter before Stiles realized it himself. 

     All four of them sat the far end of the long table, with Peter at the head, Stiles to his right with Ms. Lydia to Stiles' left, while Ennis sat on Peter's left.  The meal was a collection of succulent pheasant and wild boar, cheese and bread, fish with broth, fruits, and a collection of wines laced with the appropriate herbs to ensure a Were's intoxication.  Stiles eagerly drank as much as he could, not having many opportunities for it back home.

     "Sassafras."  Peter explained.  "Take care not to drink too much unless you've experience it before.  The resulting intoxication is a curious sensation of lucidity and absurdity."          

     The conversation was slow at first, awkward in the company of Ms. Lydia and Peter.  Despite Ms. Lydia's insistence in the library, it was clear that there was an unease between them.  The two shared an obvious strain that even Ennis could sense.  But it was easy enough for Stiles to manufacture a more pleasing conversation that turned the mood of the room.  They talked of silly things, like comedic plays that mean nothing, adorable small animals, the braiding of unusually long pubic hair, and the virtues of the sock. 

     "You enjoyed my gifts?'  Peter said brightly. 

     "Well, yes.  I suppose.  But I must tell you that you seemed to have sent me a particularly curious cow."  Stiles admitted.

     "How so?" 

     "Well, it went mad and ate two sheep and one of the goats."  Stiles explained.  "Also, I'm not quite sure how the cow managed it, but one morning we awoke to find it mooing on top of our roof."

     "I met a man once who had sheep that could not only shear themselves, but could also dye each other's wool.  Unusually, they had a preference for the colour yellow.  The only man in three counties that had yellow sheep that could use razors."  Ennis offered.   

     When the conversation returned to an in depth analysis of the sock and its merits, the silliness of it all became too much for the Matchmaker to take.   So much so in fact that it drew the boisterous ire of Ms. Lydia.

     "Oh for goodness sake, there are better conversations to be had than mad livestock and the integrity of foot wear."  She interjected wearily.  Peter, Ennis, and Stiles merely shared a look of sheer amusement, their intent having succeeded in frustrating the Matchmaker. 

     "But Lydia, the voice is more important than the content of speech."  Stiles replies blandly, earning an amused chuckle from Peter before he chokes heartily on his food when Ms. Lydia levels the Alpha with a glare.  "It is all good to shine in the art of conversation, but one must be sure to shine not too brightly."

     The three men laughed at that while Ms. Lydia bore a look that told she would very much like to throw her leg of bore at Stiles. 

     The evening was progressing quite well, and Stiles was quite pleased with himself at how much control he retained despite having drank so much of the sassafras wine.  It was clear to him that Peter's warnings were unwarranted.  It was quite unfortunate that the Candelabra disagreed with him.  

     "You're drunk."  They explained to him plainly. 

     But the particularly aggressive Chandelier was quite vocal in its dislike for Stiles.  "You smell like a raccoon's sweaty balls!" 

     "How very dare you sir!*hic*"  Stiles proclaimed.  "Raccoons are honourable creatures with amiable*hic* dispositions!"

     Such an affront clearly could not be tolerated.  Stiles is not quite sure how the battle went about, but he _was_ certain of his victory over the offensive Chandelier.  The Victor's Favour was there then to be had.  The Chandelier serviced him quite well and eagerly.  It knew its master and submitted accordingly!  So eager it was in fact, that it freely showered his person with its crystals.  It was also quite nice of the chairs to cheer in his favour during the match.  Although Stiles didn't appreciate how handsy the China Cabinet got in Peter's presence.  Clearly the thing was suicidal to risk the ire of a jealous Alpha in the midst of a coupling.  It was a foolish and cowardly thing to make such blatant sexual advances outside of the rewards from a contest. 

     There were moments that seemed to flash by quickly.  Stiles was quite sure he had just been in the dining room, but now seemed to have relocated to a particularly cozy room with a large, golden tub in the middle of it.      

     "Come 'ere you.  Go on then love, I want you inside me.  Les' get you all clean, eh?  Make you shiny and wet."  The tub taunted.  "Clean, clean, clean then, eh?  Is the best thing for it, I says.  Then they all see wot it's about then, eh?"   

     "No!  It's an evil bath."  Stiles exclaims drunkenly, pointing accusingly at the tub.  "I have surmised that... *hic* it hopes to get me clean... *hic* for all the wrong reasons!"

     He would have stumbled into the bath if it were not for two strong hands that held him up.  He was shuffled closer to the golden tub before being settled down.  The hands on his person pulled off his shirts and unbuttoned his trousers before pulling them off.  There was water then that caressed his body, and he revelled in the feeling of it.  It cooled his burning skin, and dampened the heat he felt at the tips of his hair; how unusual it was.  Perhaps a wicked parting favour from the Chandelier?  What a thing to do!  Breaking the code of the Victor's Favour.  Stiles was quite attached to his hair and had no immediate plans to part from it. 

      But the hands were gentle, and they were eager as well.  Perhaps, too eager.  Or is this all in his mind?  The world had began to blur, and a thick fog began to descend on his consciousness.  But there were moments of lucidity here and there.  The evil tub took advantage of his position as he could feel its edges caressing his body.  The bald, shiny, head of the faucet spewing forth liquid to cover his body in its cool embrace.  There was a strong scent then, of a marking.  The evil tub was marking him, and Stiles didn't care much for it.  The tub's eager touches were everywhere, and there was a guilty excitement bubbling in his person.  Was it the drink?  Or the situation?  He was not quite sure.  But it would typically not be difficult to draw his arousal.  Even if you were only an evil bathtub. 

     The loud, brash, howl of fury lifted the fog.  Even in the dim light of the room, his Omega's eyes allowed him to see things clearly.  There were bodies that flew about the room, and thankfully away from where Stiles was settled in the tub.  The growls and howls of fury echoed about his person, the two, large, bodies shrinking the large space of the room as tiles, wood, and stone snapped and broke about him.  Stiles sat frozen in the tub, chest deep in water enthralled and petrified by the display before him. 

     Two large Alpha Weres fought before his very eyes, and it was an awful sight.  Claws raked skin and fur as blood spurted onto walls, while more blood gushed from jaws biting onto hot flesh washed down onto the floors.  Crimson droplets touched his skin, Stiles' eyes wide and frozen.

     There was a flurry of colourful fabric then that obscured his vision, of two gentle, but strong and firm, hands pulling him out of the tub, gathering his naked person about themselves.  This flurry of colour pulled him out of the bloodied room, down a hall, and onto an ottoman in a darkened room.  The sound was obscure from this space, and Stiles was thankful that he could now barely hear the ripping of flesh and crunching of bone. 

     There was a gentle hand that stroked his face, of a smooth fabric caressing his body.  There were kind words that were whispered to the air and which lingered in his skin. 

     "I am sorry.  I had left."  The kind voice said. 

     There was a quick movement before him, and before he aware of it, Stiles was being fitted with a shirt by gentle hands. 

     "I am not one to intoxicate myself.  I have the habit of making sure I have control over all of my faculties, especially considering our tempestuous natures.  But I should not have left."  The kind voice pressed.  "But I never did expect that that man would be so foolish.  The Victor's Favour exist for a reason for our kind.  We wolves do not take easily to jealousy and fury.  It is even more difficult for us to pull out of it.  Therefore the nature of readily given consent and acceptance in contests broker acceptable outlets not only for our sexual desires, but our emotionally erratic duality."

     "My sister once explained that our wolves were the concentrated madness of our desires.  That control of it was paramount to live in Society.  I was foolish to expect that that man would have the sense to maintain that control despite the wine.  What he must have thought to cross that line, in Peter's house nonetheless.  Of all things, it was you who managed the wine best, succumbing only to the whimsy of it as most of our kind do, and not to its darker desires." 

     "I'm sorry Stiles, I should not have left.  There were many fools this night."  Ms. Lydia whispered in the darkness. 

     "I could feel his rage down to my bones."  Stiles says for the first time.  "There was so much of it.  I have... never experienced such madness.  I could smell it in the air, feel it on my skin.  He did not have to tear him apart.  He wanted to.  He enjoyed it.  I saw it Lydia, Ennis was trying to submit.  I doubt the man even knew what he was doing or if he even intended things to go so far.  But Peter did not let go of his anger, and now it's tearing Ennis apart.  He was trying to submit.  The man was wrong, but he was trying to submit.  But Peter was all too happy to continue to tear him apart." 

     Ms. Lydia's hands tightens on Stiles' wrists, making him realize that the Matchmaker was sitting down on the floor before him.  Her gown was ballooned about her person so much that she looked like she had sat on a large, orange, cake. 

     "There is something that I had failed to disclose to you Stiles.  To you who needed to know most of all."  She admitted in a broken whisper.  "There are curious interludes in his sanity you see.  He needs a mate to set him right.  Someone to put his arms around him and keep the madness of the world out and his madness in."           

     "Is it a mate you're looking for, or a fence?"  Stiles says bitterly. 

     "This coupling was done with his insistence.  He is a wealthy alpha from a powerful family, I did not have the authority to refuse him.  And it seems that you had gained his attention a long time ago.  It was not until recently that he was given leave to gain yours."

     "And my father?"  Stiles was afraid to ask, but the words left him before he could think otherwise. 

     "I assure you, he did not know.  At least, not all of it.  Not what was most important to know."  She explained.  "He only knew of the tempestuousness of Hale temperaments, and some sort of questionable history on Lord Peter's part.  So much so that at one point in his life, he had been sent to an abbey to be reformed.  This abbey, in fact.  But your father did not know of the extent of the man's condition."

     Stiles said nothing and merely waited for the woman to continue.  He was well too aware that the breaking of bones had stopped in the distance. 

     "It is why he pressed for a coupling with Ms. Argent.  You see, your father had already met with the woman before, and had deemed her a benevolent and worthy soul."  She said.  "But as I said, the Hales are powerful.  Even the Viscount could not refuse this simple request of Peter Hale.  And as far as he knew, there was no good reason for him to object.  The man had been reformed in the eyes of Society, if Peter's history could be remembered at all.  But even Peter was subject to the superficial laws of our Society.  He had to give you leave to choose him, even if Alphas don't deem this choice real beyond their own desires.  Granted he is strong enough to take you by force, and his family is powerful enough to allow him to do so.  To any other Omega.  But your family name is powerful and known as well as his, if not more.  Omega or not, as long as your father is alive you will continue to be safe behind your name.  But I believe he wants you wholeheartedly and of your own free will, therefore would never resort to force.  It is love he seeks Stiles, your love in fact." 

     "Remember these words Stiles,"  She said quickly, and silently, as she made darting looks over to the door.  "the moment you are perceived as weak, you already are." 

     Loud thudding footprints bring them out of their conversation, and at once the two of them quickly turn to look at the door.  Slowly opening, the large looming body of an Alpha wolf steps forward and slowly walks towards them in all fours.  There was an object in his mouth that Stiles dare not looked at, even if it were not for the fact that he couldn't look away from Peter's crimson eyes.  Ms. Lydia calmly stood, head bowed in deference, and then moved off to the side but not before giving Stiles a surreptitious look.  The large Alpha deposited the object in its mouth on Stiles' lap.  Stiles did not have to look down to know that the object on his lap was Ennis' decapitated head.

     It was with some relief that his education and his experience moved his body for him.  It was easy for him to twitch his lips into a smile, and to throw the praises that this state of Peter wanted to hear. 

     "Thank you, Peter."  Stiles said cheerfully.  "You protected me well.  Thank you."

     The Wolf rumbled his chest appreciatively, and moved to lick a long path up Stiles' neck and face.  He knew that there would be blood once more on that skin from Peter's tongue, and he knew that the arousal he sensed from Peter came from it.  The Were nuzzled his snout in the crook of Stiles' neck, his hips bucking forward that Stiles' could feel Peter's significant arousal on his legs. 

     He needed time to ponder the events of the night, and the information he had received.  There had been plenty of surprises in that week, and much education had been gained.  He only hoped that wisdom would only then follow.    

     He knew what the head in his lap meant even if it was something he could not loudly articulate.  Ennis' head was the favour given to claim the trophy that Peter seeks, Stiles himself and the love he could give.   

     "Thank you Peter."  Was all Stiles could say. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I changed the title from "The Wolf" to "The Wolves". Just 'cause it sounded better to me. Like a plural Red Riding Hood thing. 
> 
> And a couple of people suggested adding a lactation kink. Do you guys want that? I'm open for other suggestions if you want me to add other kinks into this fic. It'll be easy enough to add stuff to it. I was thinking of making it REALLY kinky, but I didn't really know where to draw the line if I started... so knotting and bestiality... but the latter not really... kinda... but not really... you know? They're all werewolves. So... does that even make sense? They all are werewolves. So... like... not cross species... so does that tag count as bestiality still? I have no idea. 
> 
> Unless one of 'em starts doing it with the crazy cow or the yellow sheep in the story, I'm not quite sure if I should use that tag. O.o
> 
> Oh, and BTW: Sassafras extract is the primary ingredient in root beer. I thought it be amusing if root beer could get Weres drunk. Lol. 
> 
> Next Week: "The Paramours"


	4. The Paramours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles spends time with the twins, receives a proposition, meets up once more with the infuriating, nameless, man, while stumbling into another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a JERK of epic proportions. I am so sorry I let myself get this busy. Frankly it's my fault for procrastinating with other aspects of my life. Then Halloween happened and yeesh... Don't you miss the time when it was you who went trick or treating? We got more than 600 kids in our neighbourhood. Not bullshitting yo. I got five of those ziploc boxes with 60 bags each and filled them with a bunch of candy. Finished all 300 in two hours, and the night wasn't even finished. Had to send out for more candy. Three more bags of those mixed candy stuff and handed only one candy at a time. Yeesh. And let me tell you, setting the house up for Halloween wasn't easy either. I held back this time though. Not as scary as last year (unfortunately). But a whole bunch of lil'uns still cried or couldn't come up to the porch. I'm cruel for enjoying that so much. 
> 
> Anyways, here's the next chappie. Made it longer and added some smut to make it all better. It's over 15,000 words! Huge swaths of it (the ones I added) are unedited. So you guys will be my beta *meep*. Enjoy! More notes at the end.
> 
> Oh and before I forget. Fairview is modeled after Halswell House in England... with some changes on my part. But It's square... so... yeah...

     In a small room in the vicinity of the stable-yard sat Ms. Lydia, preparing herself for the next journey to Sommersville and calmly observing a young man struggling with putting on his riding boots.  She was dressed in travelling finery of bright turquoise; dress, shawl, fan and all.  She had curiously chosen the outfit to match Stiles' long waistcoat in colour, wanting to travel the countryside as a pair.

     "Are you sure you don't want to ride in the carriage?"  Ms. Lydia pressed as Stiles relented in his task by allowing one of the nearby servants to tie his boots instead, his knee-cord breeches having been too tight for him to fully bend over and do the deed himself.  "I don't understand why you have to make things so difficult." 

     "It's only two miles Lydia.  This way it'll be faster and we'll reach Sommersville before the luggage arrives.  I thought you'd be pleased.  More time to hob knob with the twins."  He explains.  "But I'm not forcing you to do anything.  You're more than welcome to ride in the carriage and I'll ride off by myself." 

     "As if I could leave you alone.  God knows where you'd end up.  Your horse could break a leg leaving you vulnerable to bandits and other creatures.  Then with no one around, what would you do then?" 

     "Charming."  Stiles replies dryly.  "Bandits haven't been sighted in Contra Costa for decades.  It's only two miles.  Well, come on then, I can practically see the whites of the twins' eyes." 

     It had been a week since that fateful evening of Ennis' abrupt death.  Peter was particularly attentive towards Stiles the days following that incident.  Although Stiles was unsure of the intent behind this attentiveness, he had his suspicions that Peter was of two minds with the events of that fateful evening and had resolved to curry favour by making sure Stiles was waited on hand in foot.  Stiles had no complaints of this arrangement, but continued to be unnerved by Peter's presence despite the man's ministrations.  For the most part.

     Although Stiles did indeed find the act of it violent and excessive, if not frightening, he admits that some part of himself, with some shame, found it romantic.  Granted he had been witness to acts of seemingly wanton violence in the past, but never had he ever been a player in it.  Even if this was an intrinsic part of their Society, the volatile nature of their wolf self, it was still a staggering thing to be witness of it.  There was a world of difference between witnessing heat suffering, teenaged, Alphas succumbing to rage, it was another to see a grown one acting on it through sheer force of will and desire. 

     Stiles had attempted to press the issue once again whenever he found a moment's privacy with Ms. Lydia.  But for reasons unknown to him, the woman had taken it upon herself to pretend as if that evening had never occurred.  It was with some surprise that she had returned to her typically condescending demeanour around Peter.  Stiles did not know whether to think her brave or foolish.  Stiles continued to be surprised that Peter did nothing of it.  Stiles was now starting to wonder just how Ms. Lydia was able to act so impertinently towards Alphas and yet not incur their offence.  It seemed to him a very important skill to have. 

     It came as a surprise, and with some regret, that Peter did not come down to see them off.  For the last day or so the Alpha had become reclusive and reserved, an absolute turn around from several nights before.  They had spent a nice evening together in Peter's den, snuggled under a warm blanket in front of the fire place bonding with stories of their childhood and their families. 

     "I can't wait until this whole business with the Matchmaking is done.  I'd love for you to meet the rest of the pack.  I'm sure they'd love you."  Peter suddenly interjected after a long stretch of comfortable silence. 

     It was a startling admission.  Although Stiles had spent a very pleasant time with the man, and his own Wolf was quite pleased with the exchanges done, he still wasn't sure he was prepared for the gravity of meeting Peter's pack would entail.  The importance of the invitation was not lost on him and, coupled with having had Peter's teeth on his wrist, the whole situation was threatening to become absurdly romantic.  Peter was allowing Stiles to meet his pack and therefore illustrating with rather momentous intent that Stiles should be a part of it.  Stiles knew this invitation was not between acquaintances and friends but as prospective mates.  Of course, there was no need to mention how Stiles' own prejudices against the Hales had him hesitating. 

     Stiles was quite pleased to say that he handled the situation well enough.  He had said, "that's very sweet Peter, I'm very flattered" before proceeding to nuzzle the man in the neck and resolved to settle back into their comfortable silence.

     So for the life of him, Stiles didn't quite understand why Peter suddenly decided to sulk during his last day in the study.  Stiles wasn't all too troubled by it.  He was grateful for the respite the distance provided due to his growing concern that he was becoming astonishingly, emotionally, close with the man.  There were far too many important matters that still needed to be considered.  Like Ennis' presence at the manor for one.  Stiles had tried to question Peter even further as to the reason for Ennis' appearance, to no avail, before Stiles turned his attentions to Ms. Lydia. 

     "Never you mind,"  She had said.  That was proof enough in Stiles' mind that she knew something of this business in the city. "It's not something to concern yourself with, Stiles."

     "I should think it is.  It involves my father after all."  Stiles huffed out in frustration.  But Ms. Lydia stubbornly said nothing else of the issue and turned her attentions on lecturing Stiles on the fine art of keeping a household. 

     Stiles was actually quite pleased that Ms. Lydia decided to accompany him on his ride instead of opting for the carriage.  He was hoping that it would provide him with more opportunity to pester the woman for more information about the subject.  But of course, the situation did not go as planned as Ms. Lydia hardly allowed Stiles to get a word in edgewise.  She was far too busy talking about the meeting with the twins.          

      "I'm quite pleased that we'll be meeting them at Sommersville.  I've been told that Fairview is quite beautiful at this time of the year.  They said that the Crocusses had imported this wonderful plant called a Cherry Blossom tree from the Orient.  Its flowers turn a wonderful shade of pink during a certain time of the year, I've been told."  She twittered on.

     Or.

     "You must take care not to make the same mistakes as you've done with Lord Hale.  You must not consume spirits this time around.  A glass of wine might do fine, but goodness avoid becoming too inebriated.  You should take particular care to avoid sassafras.  Well all know what a disaster that was."  She said condescendingly. 

     "What _did_ happen?"  Stiles wondered.  "From my perspective, I had a rousing contest with an upstart chandelier who took it upon itself to insult the integrity of racoons.  Then there was a talking tub and... everything else."  He finished lamely. 

     Ms. Lydia was silent for a long moment, so long that Stiles thought that she had refused to answer him once again, and only the sound of clacking hooves rang in the air.  "Actually, that part is partially true.  You started arguing with the chandelier for some reason and said something about the other furniture egging you on.  Then you pulled the thing down from the ceiling and started shagging it." 

     "Good lord, I did not."  Stiles exclaimed, scandalized. 

     "Oh, yes.  That's about when I left the room.  Everything else that happened would be conjecture on my part, or the altered version of the servants.  But it's nothing..."

     "To concern myself with, yes.  Why does everybody insist on spouting such a ridiculous response.  It's a pile of rubbish if you ask me." 

     "Well, no one's asking you."  She said sweetly.  "And what you _should_ be concerned about are the Crocusses."

     "And not things like the city, which by the way..."  Stiles started off.

     "Enough, Stiles."  Ms. Lydia said wearily, interrupting him before he could complete his sentence. 

     Stiles spent the rest of the ride to Sommersville bubbling with irritation, resolutely ignoring everything that the Matchmaker was spouting off beside him. 

     Sommersville was a quaint little city that should be more appropriately labelled a large town seeing as it was far too pastoral in comparison to the much larger cities; like San Francisco, where his father went for some ridiculously obscure business.  Long stretches of farmland dotted the landscape, while a handful of brick buildings could be found along a wide street in the city centre.  Not far from the city centre was a large swath of land surrounded by tall cobblestone walls covered in creeping ivy.  Two large bronze gates stood open, leading up to a long winding drive that cut through a wide, well manicured, lawn.  There were tall manicured bushes cut into shapes of animals and a plethora of white and red flowers that lined the drive up to the manor. 

     The manor itself was composed of red brick and white stone and was designed in such a way as to look like one giant square block from the front.  Large glass windows dotted its facade, adding some character to an otherwise bland architectural design.  A saving grace in the design was the sloping, red tiled, roof in the far rear of the manor that housed four, tall chimney tops that continuously billowed smoke.

     As they made their way up the drive to the front doors, they were greeted by a long row of servants that bowed as they made their way down their horses.  No sooner had Stiles set his feet to the ground when the twin lords made their way down a small flight of stone steps to greet them. 

     "Lydia, Stiles, it is good to see you again.  Welcome to Fairview."  Aiden greeted.

     "We hope your journey went well."  Ethan added.

     "We've eagerly awaited your presence."  Aiden said with a surreptitious look at Ms. Lydia. 

     "We've prepared suitable quarters for you both at the manor."  Ethan said.

     "We hope it's to your liking." 

     "The manor can be quite staggering at first.  It's not the most elegant of designs."

     "But it is perfectly functional, we assure you.  Not to mention the interior will certainly impress your aesthetics, we are proud to say." 

     "And the rear gardens have never failed to impress any guests that our family has had."

     "Oh yes, I'm sure you've heard of our collection of Cherry Blossoms."

     "You'll be pleased to hear that their flowers are currently in bloom."

     "They _are_ beautiful, but clearly holds no comparison to the beauty the stands before us." 

     "It is Aiden's favourite part of the property." 

     "Ethan's are the dungeons.  Or what used to be the dungeons.  They are now used for other things."

     "The dungeons are not my favourite Aiden.  Don't be absurd."

     "Well you certainly do spend enough time there, Ethan." 

     "How was your journey?"  The twins asked Stiles simultaneously. 

     Stiles was staggered for a moment at the sheer speed of their speech and the manner in which they alternated with the other as they spoke.  But the two of them seemed genuine in their welcome and looked upon Stiles with a warm smile. 

     "Thank you, my Lords.  Your greeting warms my heart.  The journey went well.  We found no trouble on the road and made good time."  Stiles said. 

     A moment's hesitation flittered over the faces of the twins, as if they were trying to recall something very important to do, before they both rushed forward and each took to kiss one of Stiles' hands.  The act of it somehow did not hold the same weight as when Peter had done it.  Interestingly enough when the twins turned to greet Ms. Lydia in the same manner, Stiles saw an obvious intensity cross Aiden's eyes as his lips touched her gloved hand.  The scent of arousal spiking from Ms. Lydia's direction was difficult to ignore, but Stiles certainly did his best.  Ms. Lydia on the other hand had the look of a marble statue, calm and stoic, also resolutely ignoring the scent of arousal wafting from her own body.  Aiden on the other hand seemed tremendously pleased of the effect he must have had on the woman if his grin was anything to go by.  Ethan coughed to catch his brother's attention and the two ushered Ms. Lydia and Stiles inside for the grand tour of the estate. 

     They certainly were on the nose about the aesthetics of the interior.  It was elegantly designed, and the large windows brought in a wonderful amount of light from the outside as well as a beautiful view of the grounds surrounding the manor.  They had painted the walls with a warm white lined with glinting gold that formed soft patterns of flowers along the empty spaces in the walls.  Deep recesses fitted along the walls were set with enthralling paintings of beautifully dressed people cavorting with magical creatures upon unusual scenes of tragedy.  A painting of an old woman in a derelict hovel watching a caged, flamed, bird drew his attention.  There was something about her eyes that reminded him of home, unusually enough, but Stiles could not quite think what it was. 

     It had slipped Stiles' mind before, but all of the servants in the manor were dressed to match the walls, with warm white clothes lined with flowery, golden, patterns.  It was also most unusual that they all wore white wigs, had golden lips, and white, powdered, cheeks. 

     "It's far more pleasant, is it not?"  Aiden asked him as Stiles followed the servants rushing about with his eyes.  

     "You've had the Packless matching in fashion?"  Stiles asked in a flat voice to reflect that opinion he had not yet made. 

     "We found their presence rather dreary at certain points.  Especially when this manor was first reacquired from the military, everything was so dark and dismal."  Ethan explained.     

     "Mother and father took upon the idea to decorate them to match the interior changes they had made."  Aiden continued.

     "They certainly are more lively now.  Or have the look of it, at least."  Ethan said.

     "Don't you think so?"  They both asked together. 

     "And what do they think?"  Stiles couldn't help but ask.

     The twins looked at each other in confusion for a moment before Aiden asked, "think about what?" 

     "About matching the walls.  About people being made to blend in with inanimate objects because you found their presence dreary."  Stiles pointed out flatly, an opinion of the twins resolutely beginning to form itself in full.    

     Aiden laughed aloud while Ethan just looked like he had been set upon with a complicated mathematical equation. 

     "They're not people.  They're Packless."  Aiden exclaimed with a laugh.  "Regardless, I certainly do think they'd appreciate looking better than they were before."

     "I'm not sure I understand the problem."  Ethan chimed in.  "I think they look far more pleasant now than they did before."

     "By making them blend in with inanimate objects?"  Then with a quick look at Aiden, added, "Because they're Packless?" 

     "You speak as if they're being mistreated."  Aiden said with wonder.

     "I... I think I am.  I'm not quite sure.  But... you know, it's odd that you would make people to look like the walls of your home because you didn't want to be depressed whenever you looked at them.  No one wants that.  I don't think even they would want something like that." 

     "Are you an authority on the subject?  On what they want?  I'm curious as to how well _you_ know your own servants, Stiles."  Aiden asked with an arrogant raise of a brow. 

     The question staggered Stiles for a moment.  For the truth of it was, he didn't.  He could recall talking to them, of course.  Asking them for things.  Or perhaps they were commands?  But he couldn't for the life of him ever remember having a conversation with one of them, or having their presence register in his mind when they were about.  He didn't even think he knew any of their names. 

      No one likes to be faced with their own hypocrisy, and it left Stiles speechless for a moment.  

     "They're Packless, Stiles.  They _have_ no station.  They are fortunate to be in the presence of any pack at all, especially one of our calibre, without being killed.  The alternative would be letting the madness take them out there.  It is the order of things."  Aiden pressed further.  

     "It is my wish, sir, that you would endeavour to find some topic of conversation in which these gentlemen might take some rational interest."  Ms. Lydia huffs out in exasperation, interrupting whatever thought was crossing Stiles' mind.           

     "But they do take interest."  Stiles replied calmly.  "As I recall, you wanted me to engage them in serious conversation." 

     "I am wearied out of my life with politics, quarrels with the Packless, and other nonsense.  I am quite astonished at your making such an exhibition of your absurdity.  There are far more appropriate subjects that could be discussed with polite company."  She presses before whipping out her fan to cool herself.   

     "Well, then we shall be very happy to learn under your tuition."  Ethan says with a smile, a look of abject relief crossing his face to Stiles' surprise.  It seemed he found the topic quite uncomfortable as well, Stiles observed.     

     The rest of the day passed by pleasantly enough.  There was no more talk of the Packless, and Ms. Lydia took Stiles aside to reprimand him of his absurdity.  Stiles didn't think he was particularly absurd.  But he was far to shaken at the revelation of his own hypocrisy that he said nothing as Ms. Lydia twittered about with her lecture. 

     It was obvious to Stiles that the twins were making a serious effort to make him as comfortable as possible, and to occasionally act out in such a way as to show a serious intent at a coupling.  But Stiles suspected that their heart was not in it as much as Peter's had been.  He couldn't fault them of this observation, seeing as it was clearly a mutual feeling. 

      Aiden seemed much more enthralled with Ms. Lydia than he was with Stiles.  He took tremendous effort to engage her in conversation as often as possible.  Or to touch her as much as she would allow, which was a surprising amount.  But despite this, Ms. Lydia would merely respond with short sentences or immediately tried to redirect that conversation so Stiles would be pulled into it and Aiden would be forced to converse with the man.

     But Stiles found conversation with Aiden to be particularly draining.  The man seemed shallow, ill informed, and far too materialistic than Stiles could take.  But ever since he had pointed out that deal with the servants, Stiles found himself hesitating when it came to voicing his opinion around the man.  He was now always wondering if what he believed, or what he thought, or what he was about to say was just as hypocritical as that other situation had been.  From such a seemingly random and innocuous conversation came the question of just how well he knew himself. 

     But Stiles figured that he knew enough to know that conversations about the virtues of stupidity was, for all intents and purposes, very stupid.  So lost in thought was Stiles that he didn't quite know just how the conversation went about, but a moment out of his head had him listening to Aiden spouting the virtues of ignorance and the downfalls of knowledge. 

     "Knowledge is a dangerous fruit, don't you know?"  He said in between chewing a piece of boar.  "It causes learned men to do foolish things.  Now, stupidity on the other hand, is quite the liberator.  It allows us to do wonderful things that we would think twice about if we were learned men." 

     "I'm... not quite sure what to say, my lord."  Stiles interjected to his own surprise.

     But it was Ms. Lydia who responded in turn, if a bit stiffly.  "There's far more to be said of stupidity than people imagine."  

     "Indeed.  Society should be composed of beautiful idiots and brilliant lunatics.  I am never in touch with public opinion.  That is what makes me a civilized individual."  Aiden explained simply and with a wide smile.

     "And which one are you?"  Stiles couldn't help but ask.  "A beautiful idiot, or a brilliant lunatic?" 

     "I'm both, obviously."  He replies with a heavy, pompous, drawl.  "I make it a rule only to talk to perfectly proper people like those in our present company."

     "I'm honoured."  Stiles replies with a strained smile.   

     Then when it was discussed that Stiles would be with the Allison Argent next, Aiden was quite vocal about making his opinion of her family known. 

     "They do significant business in coal or shipping, or something of the sort.  What is important to know is that they are tremendously wealthy.  New money, mind you, but money is money.  Their only saving grace is that they had held titles before their wealth." Ms. Lydia had begun.

     "The whole business is rather low-bred and vulgar, if you ask me.  You can't make people proper by act of government.  Poverty is a special vice."  Aiden piped in.  "New money can only do so much to hide what you really are, and can only accomplish so much of what you want.  You can't buy into proper Society.  You may receive the title, but you'll never earn the respect that tradition and long standing wealth can gain.  If it were up to me, Baronets would never be possible."

     Ms. Lydia cleared her throat awkwardly.  "Well, from whatever their large fortune came, I have great esteem for Ms. Argent.  She wears the most charming fashions." 

     "Come now.  You all know how the Argents came about with their power.  Through blood and force."  Then leaning forward slowly to lower his voice conspiratorially, he smirks.  "I heard that the lady Ms. Argent has been seen with a rather strange man.  Not to mention that whole business in the city with the Packless.  Frankly there's only so much scandal that a name can endure."     

     Ethan seemed to agree.  "Oh yes, that whole business in the city.  It hardly inspires absolute credulity.  It's quite suspicious if you ask me."

     "What business?"  Stiles asks eagerly, his curiosity piqued.

     But Ms. Lydia was quick to nip that discussion before it bore any fruit and levelled Stiles with a very serious glare. 

     Stiles doesn't seek out her company, or those of others, after that and merely retreats to his quarters for the evening.  The very next day as he walked the halls he was interrupted in his quest to find Ms. Lydia when the twins called for his attention. 

     "My Lords,"  He says with a respectful bow.

     "Now, now, Stiles.  Enough with the formalities.  After all, we could find ourselves married very soon."  Aiden said, astonishingly, cheerfully. 

     "Yes, you must call us by our first names, we insist."  Ethan offered.

     "Is there a reason you've called for me?"  Stiles asks. 

     Looking at each other briefly, the twins smiled widely before Ethan answered him.  "We understand that we've been rather remiss in our duties to bond with you."

     "We hope to rectify that situation."

     "But we hope to do it with much entertainment in mind."

     "Therefore we've thought of the idea of having a Masque."

     "We've already gone about with the preparations.  We can have the event as soon as two days hence."

     "The guests are purely local, mind you.  And it won't be to the degree of your party at Nemeton."

     "But we do hope it will please you." 

     Stiles was staggered for a moment, his brain working hard to catch up with the rapid exchange between the twins.  "A Masque, my Lords?  Forgive me, but I've never experienced one.  How is it any different from a ball?" 

     Aiden clapped his hands eagerly while Ethan smiled widely. 

     "Well, that's splendid!  There's not much difference, mind you.  Except all of the guests will be wearing masks during the event."  Aiden explained. 

     "Masks?"  Stiles asks curiously. 

     "Oh yes.  Some wear costumes as well, but for this we'll only be requiring appropriate finery."  Ethan continued.

     "Then there would also be the scent mask."

     "A perfume or a cologne would do.  One that would be sufficient to subvert one's natural scent." 

     "What's the purpose of such acts?"  Stiles asks curiously. 

     "Well, it has come to our attention that you have doubts about our sincerity regarding this coupling."  Aiden said.

     Stiles stuttered for a moment, having not expected such a direct answer.  "I apologize my Lord if..."

     "Oh no need to apologize, Stiles."  Ethan said, waving off Stiles' discomfort.  "You must fault us instead.  It falls to us to try and capture your attention as well."

     "We have certainly been remiss to not do so.  We're of the mind that a Masque will certainly be the perfect venue for us to prove our intent."

     "How so?"  Stiles asks, genuinely curious.

     "Well, if we can find you by the end of the night even when your scent and your image is concealed, would it not then positively prove not only our intent but our worth as mates as well?"  Aiden explained cheerfully. 

     "Like a hunt?"  Stiles points out with some amusement. 

     "Exactly.  And the prey is your affection."  Ethan piped in with a smile. 

     "Well then my... Aiden, Ethan.  I am looking forward to the Masque.  And I wish you good luck."  Stiles said, trying to sound as sincere as he could as both of the twins kissed the back of his hand as a goodbye.  "If I may ask, have any of you seen Ms. Lydia?"      

     "Ms. Lydia is in the first floor study at the eastern corridor.  She was having a very lively debate with a rather striking young man waiting.  I believe his name was Scott McCall."

     Stiles' disposition brightens at the name and quickly relays his thanks before rushing towards the study.  Sure enough, Stiles walks in on Scott having a very lively debate with Ms. Lydia in the study. 

     "Stiles!"  His friend greets brightly, rushing forward to engulf him in a tight hug. 

     Stiles was surprised of course, having been under the impression that the man had been infuriated with him.  "Not that it's welcome, but this certainly does come as a surprise.  Frankly, I expected more violence." 

     "And why would that be?"  Ms. Lydia interrupts, the suspicion clear in her voice. 

     "I'm afraid I've been remiss in my duties as best friend and confidant to good man Stiles."  Scott says with as much remorse as he could muster.  "I rather lost my mind after the ball, and I falsely placed all of the blame on his shoulders for something that was clearly beyond his control.  Which, I now see clearly." 

      "And what was this _something_ that was clearly beyond his control?"  Ms. Lydia asks, her voice rising an octave.  "Does this have something to do with the Matchmaking?"

      "It has to do with the duties of a best friend.  Nay, of a brother!  It has to do with honour."  Turning to Stiles, Scott levels him with an intense look.  "In the hour that you needed me most, I left your side.  Not only was I aware how this situation was beyond your control, and how overwhelmed you were by weight of it all, and yet I left your side.  It is inexcusable." 

     "You're exaggerating."  Stiles says nonplussed.  "I can understand how you would feel..."

      But Scott stops Stiles mid sentence with a deep, passionate, kiss, to Stiles surprise and pleasure. 

      "No, I will not have you taking the blame.  Can you ever forgive me?"  Scott asks as he tilts his head to expose his neck. 

      Stiles smiles warmly at his friend.  "Of course", he says, before proceeding to nip at Scott's neck with his teeth. 

      "Mhm, yes.  What a heart warming reunion.  But may I remind you that Scott's very presence could derail any progress we could make with the twins?"  Ms. Lydia says as Stiles nuzzles Scott's neck, the latter man bucking his hips forward due to his arousal.

      When Stiles detaches himself from Scott's neck, Scott then proceeds to lick a path down Stiles' neck, rubbing Stiles' arousal with his hands. 

      "How so?"  Stiles asks curiously as Scott drops to his knees to unbuckle Stiles' trousers, fishing out Stiles' hard cock and then grasping it tight between his hands. 

      "Well, the twins could very well view Scott as competition."  Ms. Lydia explains calmly as Scott loudly sucks on Stiles' balls; Stiles' hands caressing Scott's bountiful hair.  "The last thing we need is the perception of competition."    

      "That won't be a concern."  Stiles manages to grunt out as Scott moves to sniff and lick at his pulsing hole.  Then when Scott engulfs Stiles' whole length in his warm mouth, the head of his cock prodding the back of Scott's throat, Stiles couldn't help the loud groan that escape his lips and the loud rumble that emitted from his chest.  Scott's magnificent hard sucking makes Stiles weak in the knees.  "The twins have decided to throw a Masque." 

      "A Masque?"  Ms. Lydia proclaims with barely concealed glee, her disposition brightening quickly.  "Are you sure?  But why?"

      In a show of magnificent oral prowess, Scott proceeds to fit Stiles' balls into his mouth alongside his cock.  His legs weakening at the sensation, Stiles resorts to leaning back against the wall to keep himself upright as his best friend deep throats his manhood.

      "I gather from your reaction that you know exactly what a Masque entails?  They want to prove their sincere interest in this coupling."  Stiles manages to say, his brain working hard at trying to be as coherent as possible through the warm sensation in his groin and the magnificently grotesque suction noises that came from Scott nursing on his manhood.  Stiles could feel the vibration on his cock as Scott's chest rumbles loudly in his own arousal. 

      "They wish to prove that they could easily find you despite a masked scent and costume."  Ms. Lydia says brightly and claps her hands happily.  "What a romantic gesture.  Oh, I must see them immediately." 

      With a flurry of moving, brightly coloured, fabric, Ms. Lydia exits the room as the warmth of Scott's mouth become too much for Stiles and he cums, flooding his friends mouth with his seed; Scott in turn greedily swallowing as Stiles fills his mouth.  Standing up, Scott jacks his manhood rapidly as he nuzzles Stiles' necks and spills his own seed all over Stiles' crotch with a loud rumble.  Stiles rumbles his chest appreciatively and the two spend a few moments exploring each other's mouths; Stiles relishing in the taste of his own seed on Scott's tongue.      

      "I'm glad your here."  Stiles sighs into his friends arms. 

      "I really am sorry.  But I lost my mind during the announcement, my Wolf suddenly viewing you as a threat to our mate."  Scott explains.  "My sweet Allison, having her wits about her, was quick to remove me from the room.  I wish I could say that it was an easy task to calm me, but according to her I was fairly feral for days.  I'm not quite sure how she did it, but she was able to keep me from going off and challenging you into a duel for her hand." 

     "And then?" Stiles pressed, wanting to know more about what happened.

     "Well, as the bloodlust waned it became easier to think clearer about the events that transpired.  Then it became apparent to me, to both of us, that you would never usurp another's true mate, especially when you were well aware of the fact that I had proclaimed her as such.  Allison's just brilliant, Stiles."  Scott says with a sickeningly loving look on his face as he tucks his cock back into his trousers.  "She was able to keep calm and control me at the height of my rage.  She is magnificent."

      "It took you so long to control yourself?"  Stiles asks with some surprise. 

      "Well, the thought of having my true mate being taken from me just consumed me with such raw bloodlust.  It was something that I had never experienced before, even in heat."  Scott explains with some wonder.  "But that does not excuse my abandoning you at a time when you needed my company.  I wasn't able to read your letters until about a week or so after the ball." 

      "Well, seeing as you were quite busy wanting to kill me, I'm fairly glad that Allison was able to keep you until you've calmed down enough to think."  Stiles says as he tucks himself back into his trousers.  Then moving to one of the ottomans, Stiles proceeds to fill him in on all of the events that had transpired.    

      "I had the grave misfortune of coming across a most unpleasant man.  Tall, dark, and brooding and seemingly focussed on wallowing in a persistent cloud of misery."  Stiles says as he tells of the stranger at the ball. 

      "I don't care what you say, that victory over the chandelier counts!"  Stiles proclaims when he reaches the events with the sassafras drink. 

      Scott listened attentively to his stories, having a patience that had not been typical of him during their entire friendship, but it was a patience that Stiles was grateful for as Stiles relays every thought he had had about the events of the past weeks to his friend.  Scott made the appropriate gestures and sounds of surprise during certain events.  He agreed with Stiles when he relays ever argument he's had with Ms. Lydia.  He sympathizes over his mixed emotions over Peter.  He speculates alongside Stiles with the events that were occurring in the city, and frustrates over the fact that Ms. Lydia wishes to keep Stiles in the dark. 

      Stiles was having such a lovely time bonding with his friend that he was quite surprised when the dinner bell rang and they made their way into the dining hall. 

      Having already introduced himself to the lords of the manor when he was with Ms. Lydia, the twins welcomed Scott openly to their table.  With the knowledge that a Masque was being thrown in Stiles' honour, Ms. Lydia was more accepting of Scott's presence and had a surprisingly cheerful disposition during the evening.    

      Stiles was more than happy to talk about his friend to the twins, who it seems, were not at all threatened by his presence or his familiarity with Stiles. 

     "Well, Scott and I learned fellatio on spiced sausages.  So I was quite startled to find that reality was astonishingly bland.  Although I am partial to the taste and consistency of semen."  Stiles explains when the topic of their sexual education came about.  "Oh yes, the cook wasn't all too happy with that.  But Scott and I suspect that she had been using those for herself." 

      "Well mine _was_ astonishingly moist."  Scott grumbled, earning the laughter of the whole table. 

      When the conversation turned to the excitement around the upcoming Masque and the hunt for Stiles' affections, Aiden loudly proclaimed, "Love isn't a game, it's sport" to his brother's amusement.  Ms. Lydia smiled happily, obviously excited about the upcoming event. 

      Another advantage of having Scott beside him was having another pair of eyes observing the obvious courtship between Aiden and Ms. Lydia.  A surreptitiously eye-roll from Scott had Stiles chocking back a laugh.  But what Stiles did not expect was for Scott to observe something that Stiles had missed in the days that he had already been in the manor. 

      "Did you see the way that Ethan and that servant boy looked at each other?"  Scott says that evening when they were alone. 

      Stiles startles at his friend's words.  "What?  What look?  What servant boy?"

      "That servant boy, the tall one with the wide jaw and thick eyebrows, the prominent nose?"  Scott responds. 

      "Was he marked?  Was he Packless?"  Stiles asks with astonishment, reprimanding himself internally for not having noticed it himself. 

      "I don't think so.  At least, there was no obvious mark that I saw.  Perhaps he's just low borne?"  Scott says simply before moving to lie down in their bed. 

       It was with deep relief and satisfaction that Stiles spends the rest of that evening talking with his friend before they fell asleep. tangled in each other's arms. 

      The next few days was a rush of activity in the manor as preparations were made for the Masque.  The interior of the manor needed no refurbishing seeing as it was already appropriately decorated.  The chandeliers and candelabra were refitted with new candles, the paintings and statuettes were dusted, and the floors were waxed until they were spotless.  Most of the refurbishing activity occurred at the gardens at the rear of the manor. 

      The gardens truly was just as beautiful as the twins had expounded on Stiles' first day.  Stiles had found himself wandering those grounds for long stretches of time, enjoying the company of the beautiful, tall, trees with pink flowers.  He walked the cobblestone path between them, winding around a small lake where a family of swans had made their home amongst the reeds.  The cherry blossom trees were the star of the grounds, and there was minimal need for more flowers to be fitted into the space.  But for the ball, makeshift lamp posts were raised between the paths and fitted with thick candles to light the path at night.  Stiles preferred the moonlit path as opposed to one of candlelight, but the tall, black, posts did add a certain kind of charm in the space.  A space was cleared for an orchestra to perform, and tables were set to be filled with finger food for the guests.  Charming little, white, tables and chairs dotted the lawn, while magnificent marble statues were leased by the twins to decorate various empty spaces.  

      Stiles and Scott spend an afternoon out in the city to find appropriate scents, masks and be fitted for new, dazzling suits.  Scott decides to purchase a charming top hot to compliment his suit, while Stiles purchases a scarlet cravat to compliment his double breasted, dark blue, silk waistcoat.  Scott ops for a golden eye mask with ivory detailing and a band to tie around his ears.  Stiles opts for a red and black mask that cover his eyes and half of his face.  Small, fake, sapphire jewels add a shining glint to the sleek surface of the mask.  The masks needed to be hidden until the day of the Masque, to ensure that the twin's hunt would be genuine. 

     The scents were more difficult to choose.  Stiles wanted a scent that would not only be kind to his sensitive nose, but make sure it was strong enough to subvert much of his natural scent as possible.  It took them hours to decide on their respective scents, although it was hardly important for Scott to choose his own scent as much as it was for Stiles to choose his, with Stiles opting for a curious, mixed scent of mint and jasmine.  

     There seemed to be great anticipation for the Masque amongst the nobility of this small city, further compounding Stiles' own excitement for the event.  So by the time that the evening for the Masque arrived, Stiles was buzzing out of his skin from the anticipation.  Scott and Stiles helped each other with their clothes and masks and spending time speculating as to the twins' and Ms. Lydia's fashions for the evening.  Unlike the ball, guests weren't announced when they arrived. 

     Everyone wore dazzling finery and masks, even the servants.  Certain ladies wore their hair in astonishingly complicated designs to compliment their bright masks.  Despite Ethan's assurances, some were indeed wearing elaborate costumes with their masks.  Certain couples were dressed in the brightly coloured, and frilly costumes of French courtiers.  Some were dressed in the sleek, floral patterned, clothes from the Eastern countries, with the thick waistband and the flowing ribbons at the back.  While one man actually wore a Scottish kilt.                       

      Raucous laughter and loud discussions filled the halls of the manor, while a large group of people were congregated in the gardens milling about for food and conversation.  In a certain part of the garden, close to a large Cherry Blossom tree, couples danced happily to the tune of the music from the orchestra.

       Stiles walked about, enjoying the sights, the sounds, and the food of the evening, all the while his eyes searching the crowd for any sign of the twins.  He had lost Scott in the crowd earlier in the evening, and Stiles found it difficult in the sea of scents to distinguish the honeysuckle Scott had chosen.  But when Stiles made his way into the garden, to watch the couples dancing with the music, a faint, familiar scent reaches his nose.  No sooner had the scent registered in his mind, his curiosity piqued at the familiarity of it, when a hand pulls him towards the dancing crowd. 

       A man's strong, calloused hands held one of his own, the other at his waist, pulling him tighter about the man's body.  The man was dressed in a long, white, coat with an Oriental design of scarlet leaves.  He wore a frilly, scarlet, cravat that matched Stiles' own, as well as an ivory mask with red detailing that hid the skin about his eyes.  But these were familiar eyes, and a familiar mouth that Stiles had been well acquainted with.  The feel of the hands on his skin was familiar, as was the heat of his body, and the faint natural scent underneath the orange blossom perfume. 

     "Peter."  Stiles breathed, surprise in his voice as the pair of them began to move and twirl with the music of the orchestra; the cherry blossom trees showering them with slowly falling pink flower petals. 

     Peter continued to stare intently into Stiles' eyes, holding his gaze, as they moved about the garden with the music.  Peter's hands were gentle, but firm, about his body, and the heat of his skin warmed Stiles despite the cool evening breeze.

     "Why are you here?"  Stiles asks with wonder as the Peter twirls him about. 

     "I do believe that the nobles of the whole city was invited.  I live in the city limits, don't you know?"  Peter chuckled. 

     "I'm not sure if Ms. Lydia would appreciate this very much.  I'm sure it violates some part of her Matchmaking rules."  Stiles says awkwardly as Peter pulls his body tighter against his person; Peter's other hand tightening around his hips.     

     "Damn her rules.  I wanted to see you."  Peter says huskily, his chest vibrating as he scents Stiles' wrist.  "I could smell you the moment I made it in the grounds.  There's a sea of violent smells in this place right now, and it took me a second to find you.  Mint and jasmine, correct?  Well, did you know that your scent, to me anyways, isn't that far off from those scents?  It's just more... robust.  With a stronger musk, but just as sweet as jasmine and as sharp as mint.  But so much more... mouth watering."

      Leaning forward slightly, Peter kisses Stiles softly on the cheek as they continued to move with the soft harmony of the orchestra. 

     "You could smell me too, couldn't you?"  Peter proclaims with a surety that disconcerted Stiles, for some reason he could not determine at that moment. 

     "Not very well."  He admitted.  "Not as well as you did with mine."

     "But you did."  Peter pressed.  "I saw you startle when I came close, and I saw you sniff the air about you." 

     "Yes.  I could smell you.  Despite that ridiculous orange stench that you're wearing."  Stiles said, scrunching up his nose. 

     "You don't like oranges?"  Peter asks with amusement in his voice.

     "Not particularly, no."  Stiles admits.  "It's too... acidic." 

     "Well, it's no wonder it took you longer to find my scent.  It's actually very impressive that you did, considering your apparent aversion to oranges."  Peter chuckles.  "It means that despite the overwhelmingly foul stench I've covered myself with, you were still able to scent me.  I'm flattered Stiles." 

     "Are you sure you're not flattering yourself?"  Stiles asks sceptically, not sure if the situation were just as Peter had described.  "Maybe  your scent didn't register as much with me as mine apparently did with you?" 

      Peter merely laughs before looking about them quickly and then pulling Stiles past the dancing crowd and into the path around the lake.  They walk for some time until the music grew fainter and there was no one about.  Then underneath a tall street lamp and pink cherry blossom trees, Peter takes Stiles into his arms, pulling the young man tighter against his body, for a deep, passionate kiss.  For a moment, Stiles leans into it, his body, and his Wolf, eager for the contact with the man.  Peter's lips was like fire against his own, lighting the flame of his arousal.  There was a large part of Stiles that wanted to give in, to surrender into the man's arms, to bare his neck and allow Peter to claim Stiles as his own.  The desire was there, but was quickly submerged by the reason his mind could not be rid of. 

     This was not the most appropriate time and the most appropriate situation.  The coupling had not been completed, and Stiles was supposed to be working on the match with the twins.  Not to mention the fact that Stiles still had not completely settled down to understand his feelings for the man in his arms, and the fearful hesitation that accompanied it.  Softly, but firmly, Stiles begins to push Peter away.  For a moment, Peter's arms tightens about him, as if he was unwilling to let go.  Stiles could feel Peter's claws elongating, the sharpness of the tips pressing through his clothes, and the hardness of his cock on his hips.  But the man relented and allows Stiles to push him away. 

      But before Stiles could say anything at that moment, Peter spoke first.  And what he said made Stiles regret that he did not refuse the man earlier on. 

      "You're mine."  Peter proclaimed in a deep, husky, voice.  "You're mine.  My own, Stiles."

      "Peter, what?"  Stiles asks with some surprise, his heart starting to pound against his chest.  He knew exactly what the Alpha before him was declaring, but at the moment he was having a difficult time wrapping the concept around his head. 

      "You're my mate Stiles.  And I'm yours."  Peter presses huskily, moving to bury his face in the crook of Stiles' neck.  Or at least whatever was exposed past his cravat.  "I know the intensity of your desire for me and I return it.  Those foolish twins could not even find you, and I doubt that Argent girl could ever match the feelings I have for you.  Nothing else matters Stiles.  You're mine, and I'm yours." 

      "Peter, stop."  Stiles says, panicking.  The gravity of the whole situation began to fill his head with an unmanageable amount of thoughts; his heart with an unmanageable amount of desires.

      "No."  Peter growls, and before Stiles could stop him, Peter drops down on one knee and takes out a black box which he offers to Stiles.  Popping it open, a large golden ring with a glinting diamond was offered to him.  "Choose me, Stiles.  Marry me." 

      A part of Stiles wanted to stagger back, while another wanted to accept.  A large, conflicting amount of emotions rushed through him, more than he could manage.

     "Peter, I..."  He began.

     "I can protect you Stiles."  Peter interrupts, looking up at Stiles with fierce eyes.  "My pack is strong, my family is rich, my own lands are extensive.  I am a virile man who can breed you well and give you a large, strong family, a pack, of our own.  I've loved you for a very long time.  Since I first laid eyes on you when you were a child.  Even then I knew you were mine and I was yours.  You've filled every thought that I have had.  You are my world, and I can be yours... if you accept me.  Stiles, choose me.  Marry me." 

      "Peter, get up."   Stiles says instead, of all the things he could have said.  But those were the words that left his lips, even if he was not so sure if they were the words he wanted to say.  "Please, Peter.  Stand up.  Don't be ridiculous."

      The moment that last word left his mouth, Stiles regretted them immediately.  A stricken look crosses Peter's face, for just a moment, before the look in his eyes intensified. 

      "This is not folly, Stiles.  This is my declaration to you.  Do you reject it, or do you accept it?"  Peter presses.  "I am baring my soul at this moment, giving you my heart.  It is in your hands to take or to crush.  I love you, all of you, and everything that you are.  Can you love me just as well?"      

     "Where is your dignity, my lord?"  Stiles mutters a bit desperately, trying to pull his hand back from Peter's grasp.    

     "It seems it's in the cold gutter of your heart."  Peter replies harshly, his hands tightening on Stiles'.  "What would it take for you to love me?"

     Stiles hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching for something in Peter's wretched stare.  There was something in his voice that touched Stiles' heart, even if he feared the man before him.  There were many things that he could say, many things that he could do, and Stiles only wished he had the time to think it through.  But he could see the yearning and desperation in the eyes of the man before him.  As well as something else.  That little something that reminded him of that fateful night.  Stiles could still taste the memory of that rage on his tongue. 

     "You need only be worthy of it.  I can see myself loving you at your best."  Stiles says instead, the words leaving him before he could think things through.  But these words were meant to be placating as well as an effort to hedge the truth.  For some reason Stiles did not want to confess this fear that brokered his hesitation.  But he wanted to tell Peter some measure of the truth that would allow Stiles more time to think things through.  Because the truth of the matter was he _could_ love the man before him, only he wished for more time to think things through.   

     But Peter's response tore at Stiles' heart and filled him with shame.  Because his truth was stronger than Stiles' own.  "I'd rather you love me at my worst, what use is it at my best?"  Peter says quietly, his hands and his gaze softening before he lets go, stands and then steps back.  With a soft, brief, lingering look at Stiles, Peter walks away into the night.      

     Stiles was left standing there staring after the man, his last words still ringing in his ears.  So lost in thought was he that he failed to notice the soft footfalls that sounded behind him.

     "You know, pursuit would only be polite."  A familiar voice called out.  "Well, if that's what you want I suppose.  But I'm sure he's expecting it.  Or at least hoping for it." 

     "Should I?"  Stiles asks quietly as his friend moves to stand behind him. 

     "What do _you_ want?"  Scott says while winding his arms around his friend's body, tightening them about Stiles' person.

     "Now?  I don't know."  He admits.  "Back before all of this, I wanted... you know what?  I don't even remember anymore.  I never expected any of this, to feel something for someone that I've met through a Matchmaker of all things.  How quaint." 

     "Do you think of him as a mate?"  Scott asks curiously. 

     "In all honesty, a part of me does.  Or could.  My wolf can see itself quite content with that man.  But I... I don't know.  I could see it, you know.  What my life would be like should I choose to spend it with him."  Stiles explains, his voice softening as a possible future takes shape before his eyes.  "I can see the family that we would have.  The children that we could love, that I could love.  Of a pack that we could create.  It's there.  I saw it in his gaze, in his words, a devotion that he's already set upon me... even if I feel I've not earned it.  There was a surety there in his eyes.  Of a confident future that he's somehow set upon my shoulders.  A future that now I do not know if I could refuse if it was again offered to me so freely."

     "What's stopping you?" 

     "There's a madness in him that I don't understand.  That I'm afraid to."  Stiles explains in a whisper.  "And I suppose there's a madness in me that doesn't care that Peter suffers from it.  There's a creature in me that was pleased to find a potential mate that could tear apart any enemy that I would have.  What does that make me?" 

     "Flawed.  But common.  You're allowed to love the wrong man."  Scott responds, pressing soft kisses on Stiles' neck to calm him. 

     " _Is_ he the wrong man?  Is there even such a thing as the right one?"  Stiles chuckles to himself, moving his hands to clutch Scott's arms tighter around his body.  "Did I make a mistake?  Should I have said yes?  But it didn't seem like the right time.  I... wanted time to think things through.  It was just so sudden." 

     "He could have at least graced you with the time that you wished for."  Scott says.  "If her truly loves you, then he will allow you this time to think things through.  And if you come to him after this whole thing is done with, then he will gladly be there to take you in his arms." 

     "How did you know?  That Allison is your true mate?"  Stiles asks curiously.

     "I just do."  Scott says simply.  "There's no thinking about it, Stiles.  It's not a feeling as much as it's a fact.  A binding love is born from that fact as well as everything else.  I cannot see her as anything but mine, and I, hers."

      Stiles sighs sadly.  "The way he spoke of me... the things he said... is it possible that he could be mine?  Or that I could be his?  You heard it, right?"

      Scott nods beside him and Stiles could feel his friend's breathe on his skin.  "I did not hear any lie in his words.  He was sure of what he said, and if so he must be sure of what he feels.  But understand Stiles, it is not your responsibility to return his feelings." 

     "Oh, but I must say that it is."  Stiles laughs bitterly.  "That's what this whole situation is for isn't it?  My responsibility to find a mate and secure the future of my pack and our holdings?" 

     "Stiles..."  Scott began, but Stiles stops him and unwinds the man's arms about him.

     "I must return to the Masque.  The twins are looking for me, and I should make the task easier for them."

     To his surprise, it was Scott who then laughed.  "I think they've found something else to occupy them other than hunting you down."

     "What do you mean?"  Stiles asks curiously. 

     "Well when I first lost you, I stumbled about trying to get my bearings through all the people and scents, so I found myself in the cellar.  Or at least a place that used to be a dungeons."  He explained.  "But now it houses rows of wines and spirits, and I resolved to take some for myself when I came upon the most curious sound." 

     "What?"  Stiles asks.

     "Well, it was an obvious sound.  Something quite familiar.  It was of two people fucking."  Scott says with a mischievous smile. 

      "Seriously, Scott?  What does this have to do with the twins?"  Stiles asks, rolling his eyes at his friend.  "Is the point of this story close to being revealed?" 

      "Yes, I'm getting to that, so listen."  Scott says while holding up his forefinger.  "Anyway, these two individuals were clearly lost in each other's lust.  So much so that they couldn't even detect my presence at all.  Upon closer inspection I come upon two men fucking between one of the rows of wine.  And these two gentlemen were none other than the Lord Ethan Crocuss mounting that servant I told you about."

      "What?"  Stiles exclaims with some surprise.  "Well, alright then.  Perhaps it was due to a contest?" 

      "I suppose it could have been.  But did not I tell you that the look they shared could perhaps be something more?"  Scott pressed on.  "Well, what happened next quite simply obliterates all other possibilities as to what could be happening."

      "Well, go on then."  Stiles motions for his friend to hurry along with his tale. 

      "Well, Ethan growls quite loudly and then, get this,"  His friend leans in close with a wide smile on his face, "he bites and clamps down on the servant's neck as the servant ejaculates." 

      Stiles startled at the revelation, his eyes widening with surprise.  "You mean, he..."

      "Yes.  Our Lord Ethan Crocuss knotted the servant."  Scott announces with surprising glee.  "I'm quite certain that they're likely in that cellar still bound together.  And when the servant moved  up to kiss him, I had a clear view of his wrist.  There were clear puncture marks on the skin."   

      "He's mated to a servant?"  Stiles says with surprise.  "How long has this... what?"

      "Oh yes.  The two of them were quit eager.  You should have heard the things that came out of Ethan's mouth.  "It was a flurry of 'breed you good', 'fill you up with my pups', and all that.  He even moved to renew the marks on the servant's wrist and on his neck while they were still bound.  It was quite romantic."  Scott says wistfully.

      "Huh."  Was all Stiles could say, the intensity of his time with Peter temporarily forgotten.  "Well then, I suppose he's out of the running.  I suppose it'll just be Aiden then.  I should go off and find him then, I'm sure it would make Ms. Lydia happy." 

      "Oh, I'm fairly certain that she's happy enough as it is."  Scott says with a devious smirk. 

      "Good lord, what now?"  Stiles asks wearily.  "What, you came upon her fucking Aiden, or something?" 

      Scott's shit-eating grin widened as Stiles eyes grew.  "You saw them fucking?" 

     "Oh, not just fucking.  This _definitely_ was not due to a contest either.  They..."  Scott began but was interrupted by Stiles throwing his hands up in front of his friend's face. 

     "Please, no.  I don't to view that woman in any other light that could be remotely arousing.  Thank you very much."  Once more, Stiles sighed wearily and the two men moved to make their trek back to the party, Scott expounding on how much the sight of two matings occurring before his eyes had gotten him _very_ horny, and now had the almost overwhelming urge to seek Allison out and breed her till dawn. 

     Stiles was still wondering about what he should go about with this Matchmaking next when, as they reached the edge of the lake closest to the manor, a strong, familiar scent hit him.  It drew his eyes across the crowd, and there at the far end of the party, closest to the doors was the retreating figure of a tall man with broad shoulders.  What possessed him to quickly leave Scott's side as the man moved towards the table of food, Stiles did not know.  But it was a figure that he needed to confirm, and the curiosity of why the man was there burned in his mind. 

     He followed the man through the throng of people and into the manor.  Walking through the archway of the rear doors, he was barely able to catch the figure of the man turning the corner.  Rushing forward, he runs towards the direction of the figure, following the man's alluringly rich musk all the while.  The chase wound around for quite  awhile, and Stiles found himself jogging up several flights of stairs and past several hallways before he found himself standing in front of a room in the third floor, north face, library.  The faint flickering of candlelight filtered out of the slightly opened door, and Stiles calmly walked into it. 

       He was there, the stranger from the ball, standing in the candlelight with a book in hand.  The moment Stiles walked into the room, he turned and closed the book in his hands.  The man wore a simple, dark green, waistcoat with a simple white cravat pinned by a glittering, green, pearl.  He wore simple dark green trousers and sleek black boots.  But astonishingly, he also wore a mask.  It was like Stiles' own, covering the skin around the eyes and half of his face.  But it was a simple white mask, with no discernable pattern or design. 

     "It's you."  Stiles says with some surprise.  "What are you doing here?"

     "It's a party, is it not?  And I do believe all the nobles in the city had been invited."  The man explained. 

     "Yes, but what are _you_ doing here?"  Stiles pressed.  "You hate parties."

     "No I don't."  He said simply.  "Correction, I hate the people in the parties.  The parties have done nothing particularly offensive towards me." 

     "Yes, I do believe you used the word 'parasites'.  Which again begs the question, why are you here?"  Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow, which then reminded him of the mask her was wearing.  He removes the mask about his face and places it upon a desk beside him. 

      The man before him does the same.  "You mean here?  In this library?  This particular room that is the furthest from all of the festivities?  Where I could be sure there would be no one else but me and the books?" 

     "Why go to a party you're not even going to attend?"  Stiles asks curiously.  "And don't say you had business with my father.  My father isn't here."

      The man looks at him curiously for a moment, with a rather blank expression.  Stiles found it amusing that his thick eyebrows furrowed, creating a deep groove above his nose. 

      "I had business with the Crocusses."  He says simply.

      "Well that's a lie."  Stiles laughs, having heard the man's stuttering heartbeat.  "Besides, it wouldn't be a very prudent time for business.  You could have come this morning, or even the day after to conduct business with the twins.  Not to mention, you wore a mask.  You were here for the party."

     "Well, like I said.  I don't have anything against parties."  The man said simply.

     "Which you spend by going into the furthest room from the festivities to... read?"  Stiles asks curiously, unaware of the fact that he had moved further into the room and closer to the man before him.    

     "Yes."  The man said simply, not having moved from where he stood, the tips of his fingers still lingering on the book he had placed on the table. 

     "Why are you here?"  Stiles asks again, stopping to stand not far in front of the tall, brooding, man. 

     He was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying Stiles' face.  "I don't know." 

     "Who are you?"  Stiles asks.

     "Why do you want to know?"  The man asks, his lips curving up in a slight smile.

     "It's only polite.  You seem to have known who I was, yet I don't know your name at all.  Save for the fact that you seem to do a lot of... business."  Stiles prattled. 

     "Why are you still here?"  The man asks to Stiles surprise. 

     "What?"  Stiles' face scrunched up in confusion, the man's eyes still boring into his own. 

     "Why are you still here?  Why are you doing this?  Don't you know?  I do believe Ethan has already found himself a mate in secret.  And you must be aware that Aiden is _far_ more interested in your Matchmaker than he is with you."  He explains, the amount of words coming out of the man's mouth surprising him.  But what surprised Stiles even more was the fact that he seemed to enjoy hearing the man's voice.  "So, why are you still here?  You could move on to the next match.  Or you could choose Peter.  Couldn't you?  I'm sure he's propositioned you by now." 

     "What do you..."  Stiles staggered with the surprise of hearing about Peter's proposal from this stranger.  "Who are you?"

     "Yet, you're still here.  Do you even really want this?"  The man asks. 

     "What do you know of what I want?"  Stiles says defensively. 

     "Well, do you wish to do continue a wantonly immoral act because you think it is connected to a higher purpose?  Or perhaps you believe, if unconsciously, it excuses it?"  He continues cryptically, his eyes never leaving Stiles' own. 

     "Immoral?  Of what immorality am I guilty of?"  Stiles asks with confusion, now taking a step back from the man. 

     "Ignorance is a sin Stiles.  Ignorance of the world about you.  Of the people in it.  Ignorance of the misery of others, having been so caught up in the shallow misery of your own life.  Ignorance of the gravity of your actions or the lack thereof."  The man pressed on calmly. 

      "Who the hell are you to qualify how I feel and what I think, what I do?  You don't even know me.  All you know is my name.  So what gives you the right?  Standing there and suddenly judging me with your eyes and your philosophical pontificating."  Stiles snapped defensively, surprised by the turn of the conversation, and the gravity it suddenly held.    

     "Oh, I know you well enough.  More than you think.  You're capable of so much more beyond these... this... triviality."  The man said, pointing to his own mask.    

     "Well I certainly make an effort to be as trivial as I can."  Stiles replied dryly, turning on his heels to walk out the door.  "Don't you know?  I am far too young myself to bother about setting a good example.  But I do admire those who do."

      A hand catches his arm before he makes it out the door, forcing him around to face the man once again.  This time there was a fire in his eyes, a desperation in his voice that staggered Stiles to the core.  It confused him how a stranger could seemingly muster such intense emotions for him.

     "Why do you subject yourself to these people when there is something more important out there in the world?  A world that your very own father is trying to hold together.  Why do you insist on losing what little of the fire I've seen in you in this... fantasy..." The man says while motioning to the room about him.  "When it should be used to light your father's company in these dark times."

      "Fire you've seen in me?"  Stiles asked, confused.  "What?  You're mad."  Stiles asserts, trying to free himself and walk away, but to no avail as the man's grip tightens on his arms. 

      "What are you waiting for?  Who are you listening to?  Why?  Do you even know your own mind?"  He says huskily, lowering his voice and moving his face closer to Stiles' own.  "Is it worth it?  Losing yourself for... what?  Duty?  Property?  Society?  I can see it you know, you're still there.  There's a desire there that's itching to get out.  Of a life that's been waiting to be lived.  Of a fire that wants to burn a path through this world.  What the hell happened to you?" 

      Stiles musters as much power as he can to struggle out of the man's grasp and with enough force, or luck, he succeeds.  He staggers back a few paces and stares at the man's eyes curiously, cautiously.  There was a familiarity there in his eyes, of a nagging, distant, memory in his mind.  Like something in the periphery of his thoughts but played a significant role in his dreams, or his fantasy.   

     "This lecture of yours is going a bit long.  Has no one ever told you my lord, that brevity is the soul of wit?"  Stiles says, trying to turn the gravity of the conversation.    

     "And the recourse of fools who've nothing to say.  You could be so much more than what you are."  The man said sadly, his eyes boring into Stiles' soul. 

     "Don't think too highly of me my lord.  I would not survive the fall from such great heights."  Stiles said tersely before stomping out of the room. 

      The moment he exited the room, Stiles ran.  He ran down the empty corridors, bounded down the vacant stairway, to make his way back to the throng of people, wanting to lose himself in the noise and the activity of the evening.  There were thoughts that were threatening to form in his mind that he did not wish to entertain due to a conversation with a stranger that seemed all too familiar.  He let himself stand still in the middle of a throng in the gardens, letting the raucous laughter and the exuberant glee of the place wash over the misery he felt. 

      A soft hand took hold of one of his own, and for a moment a kind warmth spread throughout his body at the thought of his good friend finding him once more.  He needed the comfort of familiarity, and looked up expecting such but was instead greeted by the stern face of an irate Matchmaker. 

     Ms. Lydia pulled him from the crowd and back into the manor, past cavorting guests and rushing servants into an empty room at the far end of the hole.  There she rounds on him, fury on her face.

     "Where have you been?  You've been neglecting your duties this night."  She fumed.  Stiles couldn't help but observe that he lipstick was slightly smudged at the corners. 

     "I was under the impression that they would be hunting _me_ , and not I, them."  Stiles responds dryly, having no patience for the conversation he knew would occur.         

     He was right.  Ms. Lydia was quick to give Stiles another one of her lectures, spouting of quotes from her guide to perfect gentility.  But being far too tired and lacking the patience to stomach any more sermons this night, Stiles resolves himself to rudely walk away before she had even finished. 

     "Not now Lydia.  Unless you've decided to tell me about that business with the city, then I shall retreat to my room for the night."  Stiles said wearily.  "Frankly, I can stomach no more lectures this evening." 

     "I've not finished with you."  She said sternly.  "Enough with this incessant curiosity with the city.  You should interest yourself of something less dangerous.  I've been very patient with you Stiles.  I have made sufficient allowances.  After all, no one is incapable of doing a foolish thing, but enough is enough.  There are far more important matters that needs to be handled."    

     "Well, I'm sorry to have put you to any inconvenience.  But this whole situation is clearly insufferable.  For _every_ party involved.  Their attentions are clearly forced.  Aiden showers you with more attention, while Ethan kept on disappearing to, as it turns out, mate with one of the servants."  Stiles ranted and earning a scandalized gasp from Ms. Lydia.  " This night was a failure.  For me at least.  They hoped to spend the evening proving themselves to their mate, and I do believe _they_ succeeded in that part.  It is clear that no one will ever curry the other party's affections.  Perhaps it is time I take my losses and move on." 

     "There is property at stake, it is _not_ a matter of affection."  She replied harshly.  "That is something that comes later on in life."

      Frustrated, she begins to pace the room with the veins on her neck seemingly threatening to pop out of her skin.  "Their attentions are not as forced as you seem to think.  There is a curiosity there, I assure you.  And quite frankly you are fairly in for it.  You must satisfy the curiosity of these gentlemen, sooner or later, so you had better take advantage of this favourable opportunity and do so at once." 

     "What's the point?  I'm more likely to choose Peter than I am to choose them."  Stiles pointed out.

     "Is that it then?  You've chosen Peter for your match?"  Ms. Lydia says stiffly and with surprising concern in her voice.  "One of the servants informed me that he made an appearance."

     "What?  No.  It was just an example.  I'm not ready..." 

     "Well then, you must continue with this match.  Then off to Ms. Argent soon after until you _have_ made your decision."  She explains.  "For now, you will seek out Lord Aiden and seek his pardon.  _Curry_ his favour Stiles.  Challenge him to a contest if you have to _and_ lose.  If possible do both of them at once.  Curry both favours and we'll be done soon after, if you insist.  But we will not leave this house until progress in this match has been made." 

     "Why do you insist on this?"  Stiles asks angrily.

     "Why don't _you_?"  She replied with a loud voice.  "You've got everything to gain and _nothing_ to lose.  Yet you complain and sabotage.  You ignore protocol and tradition and you protest as if you were suffering some sort of miserable lot in life when you know _nothing_ of true misery.  You've been given the chance to couple with three powerful, rich families and yet I have to push and lecture you to do what you should freely want to do yourself."

     Stiles narrows his eyes and speaks in a cold voice.  "Is this really about me?  Or is this about what you want?"

     "What?"  Ms. Lydia says with surprise. 

     "Please, I'd be surprise if there was anyone in this place that doesn't know you want him."  Stiles scoffed.  "In fact, as I understand it you've gotten quite close to him tonight."

     "I don't know what you mean."  Ms. Lydia says defensively, feigning innocence. 

     "Oh don't bother denying it.  It's impossible.  Even the dogs the next county over can smell him all over you."  He said, sparking an affronted scoff from her.  "It's clear that you're interested and so is he!  You'll be far more successful in gaining his favour than I ever could be." 

     "Cease this conversation at once.  This is _not_ how things are done, Stiles.  There could _never_ be anything..."

     "And why not?  He's an Alpha, who would dare to question his choices?  And clearly he's chosen you.  I don't understand what's holding you back.  What?  Arbitrary protocol and ridiculous traditions?  Or position in Society?"  Stiles laughed. 

     "Who are you to eschew tradition?  Being who you are?  Having gotten what you have through tradition?"  She sneered.  "A spoiled rich boy whining about having to choose between three rich families."

     "Well that's amusing coming from you, being what you are, who you are.  You and your sanctimonious lectures that could peel the bark off a tree.  All you've done is..."

     "What?"  She snapped, interrupting him.  "What have I done?  You know _nothing_ about who I am."

     "That is so _arrogant_ coming from you when you act like you know who _I_ am all the time." 

     "Do _you_?"  She snapped.  "Do you even know who you are?  You're emotionally a child bumbling around in the dark.  Listen well, Stiles.  With blood and spirit, we are set onto paths that our lives will take even before we are born.  Free will?  Choice?  No.  It is _nature_.  You cannot change who you are.  You can only resolve to live your life with grace.  God saw fit to shape you as you are; to place you into the life that you live.  We are but simple players in this grand scheme and providence is our Matchmaker."                

     She shuts her eyes for a moment and takes a deep, steadying breathe before moving towards the door.  Stopping briefly, she says without turning to look back, "Do what you will, Stiles.  But know this.  Life is a race between education and catastrophe.  Now, I've tried my best to educate you of the world as it is; of what you and your kin must do to survive.  But from now on, you'll have no more meddling from me."  She declares before slamming the door shut, leaving him alone in the room to contemplate the events of the night. 

     Considering the sheer amount of turmoil that had been inflicted upon his person, Stiles expected to spend a restless night.  Instead he slept quite well, succumbing to a dreamless sleep.  It was a brief reprieve that Stiles appreciated, and he revelled lingering on his bed and staring at the ceiling before moving out to prepare for the day. 

     Stiles takes his time to dress himself, not particularly looking forward to greeting the Matchmaker at the morning table.  But to his surprise, only Scott was seated already moving through his breakfast hash.  

     "Good morning."  He greets through a mouthful of food.  Scott wasn't known for his manners. 

     "Where is everyone?"  Stiles asks curiously, also noting that the table had only been set for two. 

      An elderly servant behind him clears his throat and hands Stiles a letter.  Stiles takes it curiously and reads, his eyes widening for every line that he passes.  It takes a moment for Scott to sense the tension from Stiles, he was so lost in his meal, but when he did he moves out of his seat to move towards his friend. 

     "What happened?"  He asks with concern in his voice. 

     "That hypocritical bitch."  Stiles muttered, a smirk fighting to break from his lips. 

     "What happened?"  Scott asks curiously, trying to read the letter from Stiles' hands. 

     Stiles laughs bitterly for a second before doubling over into a loud guffaw.  "My Matchmaker ran off with my match!"  Stiles announced, earning a wide eyed gasp of surprise from his friend. 

     "You can't be serious."  Scott says sceptically, tearing the letter from his laughing friend's hands. 

     "My dear Stiles, it is with some regret that I inform you that my heart has been captured by another.  Although you are a very handsome young man, and would be a very worthy mate, my affections have been won over by the lovely woman you call your Matchmaker.  Ms. Lydia is my heart, my soul, my other.  It was with tremendous difficulty that I tried to secure her hand due to the rather obstinate obstacles that she placed before me.  But fortune graced me with her presence last night, and the woman I love tore all of those obstacles from my path herself.  It is with great pleasure that I relay to you our intent to elope.  I apologize for any inconvenience this causes your person, but I cannot say that I am sorry that I am gifted with the love of my life in turn.  You have free reign over our manor for as long as you wish, but understand that we two shall not return for some time.  Should you leave, I fare thee well and I wish you all the fortune in the world.  But perhaps not and you shall be wed to my brother?  If so, I welcome you to the family, brother.  Aiden Matthieu Carboran Othias Crocuss."  Scott reads.  "Good lord, your Matchmaker ran off with your match.  What possessed her to do such a thing?"

     "I don't know, and quite frankly I don't care."  Stiles says, still chuckling, wiping tears from his eyes.  "I suppose this leaves me with Ethan." 

     But the same servant once again clears his throat and hands Stiles another letter.  At the sight of the note, Stiles bursts into another round of laughter.  It was Scott who takes the letter in hand and reads it for Stiles. 

     He didn't need to of course, Stiles was sure he knew what it already said.  Ethan had left as well, eloping with the servant he mated and wished Stiles well for the future, and wished him the best to secure his brother's hand. 

     Stiles had never been dumped by letters before, it was an odd feeling. 

     "Huh, as it turns out the servant's name is Danny."  Scott says with surprise.  "And he's not Packless, just poor." 

     Scott turns to watch his friend who had taken a seat at the table, curiously staring up at the ceiling with a blank face. 

     "What are you going to do now?"  Scott asks. 

     "Leave I suppose.  On to Highland Ranch then, to see your mate?  See if I match with her?"  Stiles said with barely concealed amusement.  At the eye roll from Scott, he bursts into another round of laughter.           

     Once again Stiles opts to ride a horse for himself instead of the carriage, but this time it would be his best friend that would be accompanying him.  After breakfast, Stiles had spent the better part of the morning thinking about what he would do, and what this whole situation would mean.  He thought of all the scenarios in his mind, and all the paths he could take.  But they all lead to only one conclusion. 

     "It's only Peter then."  He announces to no one in particular as Scott and he made their way down the road to Highland Ranch.  They still had not yet left Sommersville and were in no rush on their journey. 

     "Are you sure?"  Scott asks. 

     "No."  Stiles admits, "I'm not.  But what else is there?" 

     "Nothing else.  Aiden left with Lydia, Ethan with the help, and Allison is my true mate.  And quite frankly, I'd probably end up duelling you the death if you even attempt to couple with her."  He answered honestly before he laughs out loud.  "Well, you could always just run away." 

     His friends continues to laugh a ways away before Scott realizes that Stiles had stopped his horse in it's tracks, a look of deep concentration on his face. 

     "It was a joke Stiles.  You can't run away."  Scott says seriously, levelling his friend with a frown. 

     "I'm not.  But it's not a bad idea.  But this is the perfect opportunity to go off by myself, isn't it?"  Stiles says, an idea forming in his head. 

     "What are you talking about?  Go off by yourself?  Don't be absurd.  Where would you go?  What would you do?  Who would protect you?"  Scott spouts off.

     "There are a few other small cities and towns close by.  It'll just be a short jaunt by myself."  Stiles says smiling widely, falling in love with the idea even more.

     "Stiles, no."  Scott says seriously.  "You're an Omega, you could..."

     "Oh, who would know?  It's not like I'm going to suddenly start exposing my eyes, not to mention my heat is a long ways away."  Stiles pressed.

     "There are other ways to know Stiles, the way you act..."  Scott begins.

     "What about the way that I act?"  Stiles asks, affronted. 

     "Well, you're too soft for one.  Too kind.  Not very prone to violence like Betas or Alphas are.  You'll be discovered the moment you back away from a fight, which you can't win if you accept."  Scott explains.  "This is a terrible idea.  Your father would murder me."

     "But I won't be in a fight!"  Stiles exclaims.  "I'll be inconspicuous.  Just another face in the crowd.  It'll be a chance for me to see the world, Scott."

     "Stiles..." 

     "Look, how about this?  I'll head to the city instead?  To see my father?  How about that?  I can finally see what it is he actually does, and we'll finally know about all this hubbub with the city and the Packless."  Stiles pressed.

     Sighing wearily, Scott nods.  "Fine, let's go then.  I'll be coming with you."

     "Oh no you won't."  Stiles says to Scott's surprise.  "They're expecting me at Highland Ranch.  You can take my place there.  That means you'll be spending more time with your mate.  It's the perfect opportunity for you to spend more time and secure her hand in marriage."

      "Stiles..."  Scott says in that voice that means he disapproves of Stiles' idea. 

      "Scott, listen.  I want to see the world.  I want to experience it.  More likely than not, I'll be choosing Peter.  But I'd  rather like more experience of the world before I leave it.  Figuratively.  I doubt I'll be doing much travelling as Peter's mate.  And if I did, it wouldn't be very far."  Stiles explains.  "This gives me the perfect chance to see the world for a short while.  I won't go very far, I promise.  Just the cities along the coast before going to San Francisco to see my father.  Then I'll tell him everything and that I've chosen Peter.  I'll be perfectly fine.  I'll be staying in expensive hotels and only going off to see the sights.  I certainly have enough coin on me for it.  But it will be a perfect opportunity for me to see more of the world and have some time to think about my future.  How about it?"

      Scott stares silently at his friend for a long while, only the impatient snorting of their horses breaking the silence.  "You know, too much experience can be a dangerous thing."  Scott grumbles to Stiles pleasure.  Stiles knew his friend wasn't all too serious with his words, and it was his way of agreeing with Stiles' plan. 

      "Just a month Scott."  Stiles promises. 

      "Three weeks, Stiles."  Scott says wearily.  "A month is too much.  And you must send me a letter as often as possible.  The government office in Highland Ranch has a telegraph, so you can send a message through there as well."

      Happy with the turn of events, Stiles tries to give his friend a hug from atop his horse.  The Horses weren't all too pleased at the attempt and moved away just as Stiles threw his hands upon his friend's shoulder, causing the both of them to stumble out of their saddles. 

      Laughing, Stiles hugs his friend tighter and kisses him on the cheek.  "Don't be so worried Scott, what's the worst that could happen?" 

      Stiles waves his friend off as he turns to ride towards the Antioch port next to the wetlands.  The journey didn't take very long, and his horse took the pace he pushed fairly well.  It was late afternoon by the time Stiles reached the port, but the sun hadn't even set.  Stiles hires a local stable boy to ride the horse back to Fairview before moving to purchase a ticket for the next boat out of the port.  He didn't particularly care where it would be heading, only being far too excited about the thought of an adventure on his own. 

     Stiles spent the time waiting for the boat next to the marina, admiring the view of the various birds flying about, and of the busy dock workers going about their day.  When the sun started to set and Stiles' stomach grumbled for food, he got up from his seat by the bay to look for food.  The street workers were now moving about to light the lampposts for the evening, and the various street stalls were closing for the day.  Paying far more attention at searching for places to eat than where he was going, it was inevitable that Stiles bumps into a rather large man as he turned a corner. 

     Uttering a quick pardon, Stiles goes on his way, not even bothering to look up at the man, being far more focused on filling his stomach with food than with the world about him.  Still busy looking for a pub or a restaurant to dine in, Stiles doesn't realize a group of men that had turned to follow him.  It takes him a long moment to realize this fact, and not only until Stiles had turned into a dimly lit alley way did it register in his mind that he was being followed.

     "Oy, you."  A deep rumbling voice called out.  It came from a large man with no hair and a clean face, wearing a dirty brown long coat.  "You lost?"

     "Not particularly."  Stiles automatically lied, his heartbeat giving out his fear.  "Just looking for a place to eat." 

     "Why don't you come with us then?  We'll take you somewhere.  Get sumin' in your belly.  Get you all full and what not."  The man sneered, earning a the laughter of his peers. 

      There were four of them together, with the tall, bald, man being accompanied by three others.  One had bushy red hair and a messy beard, while two had black hair with similar scars on their faces.  All three wore the similar dirty, brown, coat that the bald man wore. 

     "It's quite alright.  I think I saw a nice enough pub in the corner, I think I'll go there.  But thank you for the offer gentlemen."  Stiles says, before Scott's words echoed in his head and he silently reprimands himself for being such a fool. 

     He was alone in a dark alley way. 

     This was the man he had bumped into, and as luck would have it he failed to respond appropriately.  He was practically broadcasting that he was an...

     "Omega.  That's what you are ain't ya?"  The bald man called out before turning to his friends.  "Never had an Omega before.  'Bout you lot?"

     "Me neither Jed."  The red haired one said before leering at Stiles.  "How about it then love?  How about a bet?  A contest?  Let's play a game then, eh?  Have us some fun.  Then we'll feed you ourselves."

     "No thank you."  Stiles said stiffly, saying the words as calm as he possibly could.  "Not tonight gentleman, but perhaps another night?  I actually have to meet a friend of mine about these parts." 

     "Oh yeah, who's this friend then?"  The red haired man asked.  "I thought it strange that an Omega would be walking alone by his lonesome in these parts.  You look pretty fancy too, don't you?  Your sort don't usually get down these here parts.  Not unless you're looking for a good time then, eh?  So how about it?"

     But Stiles hardly thought he actually had any choice in the matter, as the four men started to step forward, with the large, bald, man the closest; the other three clearly deferring to him. 

     A defensive rage overcomes Stiles, and his eyes glowed their yellow, Omega, hue as his fangs and claws elongate at the threat he felt.  "Back off."  Stiles snarled at the man, his posture moving to a crouch to prepare for any attack. 

     But the three men just chuckled, while the bald man merely growled appreciatively in turn. 

     "I like me a fighter."  He rumbled. 

     Stiles crouched down on all fours, not caring if his clothes and his hands now touched the filthy ground.  His vision turned red, and his boot tips became torn as his claws pierced the leather.  A long, persistent, even growl escaped his lips as the men continued to move forward.

     "There you are.  You've had me waiting ages, did you get lost again?"  A calm voice proclaimed from behind the men. 

     The voice startles the four of them and they all turn to look at where the voice came from; Stiles still crouched on the ground defensively. 

     "I said to meet at the _other_ side of the Marina, and of course I'd find you here."  The voice said.  From the dark, a tall man with a square jaw and light brown hair emerged.  He had a charming lilting accent in his voice but his demeanour was calm, controlled, and powerful.

     "Gentlemen, is there a problem?"  The man asked as his eyes glowed a deep scarlet, hue in the dark. 

     "What's it to you?"  The tall bald man asked defensively in a snarl. 

     "You're scaring my friend, I don't appreciate that."  The unknown Alpha said calmly, his eyes still glowing that fiery red. 

     The three other men echoed his leader's growl as the unknown Alpha continued to calmly make his way forward, closer to where Stiles stood.

     "Who the fuck are you?"  The red haired man snarled, and Stiles saw his claws elongating even in the dark. 

     "People call me,"  the stranger said calmly, "Deucalion."    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEUCAAALIIIIIOOOOON!
> 
> That was me trying to imitate Gerard by text. 
> 
> Also, guess what? When I started adding shit into this chappie, I started thinking about my ending and I thought I should rewrite it. So muhahahaha. So some significant parts of this chapter were actually changed from the original to accommodate the new ending. 
> 
> And !SURPRISE DEUCALION! Honestly, I've wanted to write him into a story for a long ass time and I was waiting for this chapter to come up because of this. And I'll be updating the tags for next chapter, 'cause a whole bunch of surprise tags happen. 
> 
> Again sorry for the late update. If it makes you feel better, only three more chapters till the end?
> 
> Forgive me if I wait till the weekend to edit this chapter. I added about five thousand words from the original draft in a whole bunch of places. Also, is this story feeling rushed? 'Cause a lot happens in this chapter. O.o But I at least try to make all of the events flow together. 
> 
> And no. We haven't heard the last of Ms. Lydia. Har har. Also, who saw Danny coming? 
> 
> Next Chapter: "The Dreamers"


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